Qass 
Book 



-•..]>[ ARE ATI VES. 

% ^, OF J"VVO FAMILlls EXPOSED TO / 

THE GKEAT PLA<iUE >0iP LONDON^ ^ 
■■■f> . 5. V ' Jf> 1665: . 

^:im Y"^s-^4?r i|0 r^^, t; y ^- ■ 



RELIGIOUS PREPARATION FOR PESTILENCE. 



REPUBLISHED, WITH NOTES AND OBSERVATIONS^ 

BY JOHN SCOTT, M. A. 

Vicav of North Terriby, and Ministei* of St. Mary's, H^'^j 



FIRST AMEPaCAN EDITION. 



NEW-YORK : 

PUBLISHED BY SWORDS, STANFORD, AND Cl?: 

No. 152 Broadwa^^ 



183-2, 




isEW-YOHtv; 
PRINTED BY EDWARD J. SWORDS; 

^No. 8 Thames-Street. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



The publishers of this edition of the 
-'Narrative" present it to the notice of 
their fellow-citizens, under the impression, 
that, at the present time, when pestilence 
v/aiketh in darkness, and the arrow flietli 
at noonday," it will be considered an in- 
teresting and valuable publication. In- 
dependently of the great interest of the 
Narrative itself, the Notes and Obsermiions 
by the editor, the learned, pious, and Rev. 
John Scott, M. A. Vicar of North Ferriby, 
and Minister of St. Mary's, Hull, &c. will 
be found pecuUarly appropriate and appli- 
cable in the present melancholy, distressed, 
and afflicted situation of our country. It 
has passed through two editions in London 
since December last, and is now offered 
Xq the attention of the American public. 



NeW'Yorh. Ang. 17, 1832. 



1 




PREFACE, 

BY THE EDITOR. 



Some four or five and thirty years ago my atten- 
tion was attracted, at a book-stall in London, to 
a small duodecimo volume, neatly bound, and 
lettered on the back, " plague for soul and 
BODY." The title page furnished the rectification 
of this grotesque labelling: " Preparations for 
the Plague, (Preparations) as well for Soul as 
Body." The work is anonymous — printed at 
London, " for E. Matthews at the Bible, and J. 
Batley at the Dove, in Paternoster Row," in 
1722. This was a time when the plague, which 
had commenced at Marseilles in 1720, was still 
raging in France, and was making such progress 
towards our own shores, as induced the govern- 
ment of that day to adopt measures, similar to 
those which are now employed to prevent, by 
the blessing of God upon them, the introduction 
or diffusion of another fatal disease amongst us, 
which is calculated to have carried off, in various 
parts of the world, as many as fifty millions of 
our fellow- creatures within the last fourteen years -t 
1* 



vl- 



PREFACE. 



In particular we may observe, that at the period 
referred to, those prayers were first introduced, 
which are row, by public authority, again used 
amongst us.* 

I purchased for sixpence the little volume I 
have described ; and, on perusing it, found it to 
contain, in the form of a history of a family shut 
up In London at the time, an Account of the 
great Plague of A. D. 1665, v/hich is highly in- 
teresting and affecting, and at the same time free 
from those minute and revolting descriptions, 
which sometimes make us turn away from such 
narratives with horror. This is folio v/ed by a 
series of Conversations between the members of 
another family, exposed to the same awful visi- 
tation, on the spiritual preparation requisite to 
fortify the mind in the prospect of such a calamity, 
and to secure our meeting it unharmed^ if it 
should really come. 

Several friends to whom I lent the volume, 
read it with no less gratification than it had 
afforded me: and, during the many years that I 
have now had a family about me, it has been so 
much a favourite among them, that I found* I 
could seldom afford a greater treat to my children, 
than by allowing them the use of " Tiie Plague 
Book." 



^ Christian Observer; Nov. 1831. 



PREFACE,. 



The Conversations I conceive to be of a highly 
useful character, as well as entertaining. Very 
forcibly indeed do they seem to me to press upon 
the conscience the necessity of living prepared 
for death and eternity; strikingly illustrating the 
happy effects of so doing on the one hand, and 
on the other, the unhappy consequences which 
follow from the neglect of it, whenever danger 
arises. 

On these grounds, and in consideration of the 
scarcity of the book — of which I have never 
seen, or, properly speaking, heard of another 
copy* — I have often entertained the thoughts of 
reprinting it, at least in aa abridged form. This, 
however, has hitherto remained among my un- 
executed purposes. I hope the w^ork may have 
been reserved for a time when it may be more 
seasonable, and therefore more useful. To young 

* In the Gentleman's Magazine for 1825 appeared, iii 
the numbers for i\pril and July, some extracts from the 
narrative portion of both part s of the work — communicated 
by Mr. W. Hamilton Reid. That gentleman, however, 
did not point out the source from which he had derived 
them, but only observed that they were ''not in any popular 
author that he had read," but were '' among the many traits 
of form.er times collected during his limited researches into 
the antiquities of the great city." From the Gentleman's, 
the first, at least, of the extracts was transferred to the pages 
of the Youth's Magazine — an evidence that it was esteemed 
yiterestjng. 



Vlll 



PREFACE. 



persons, in jDarticular, I dare promise that it will 
afford much interesting information ; while I hope 
it may at the same time, by the blessing of God, 
make very salutary impressions on their hearts. 

in republishing, however, I have not thought 
it necessar}^ to give the whole of the volume. It 
contains discussion on the contagious nature of 
the Plague, (which was then dis uted, as that of 
the Cholera is now,) and many things on medical 
and economical provision against it, which do 
not concern general readers, or perhaps readers 
of any class in the present day. All these, 
therefore, I have dropped ; and other parts I 
have abridged: thus reducing the former division 
of the work by more than one half. The latter 
division admitted of less retrenchment; though 
this also is reduced in size. 

As no known author was answerable for the 
work, I have felt myself at full liberty to correct 
the language, where this appeared to be necessary. 
It is written in an easy, natural, and lively style, 
but with considerable grann:satical inaccuracy, 
especially in the pointing and division of the 
sentences. This I have endeavoured to remove: 
but I have in no case knowingly altered the 
sentiment. 

The period at which the volume was published 
was an unfavourable one, as respects pure Christian 
Jight and knowledge. The extravagances of the 



PREFACE!. 



times preceding the restoration, and the profane 
and licentious reign of Charles II. which followed, 
iiad conspired to bring devout religion, and evan- 
gelical truth, into disrepute and oblivion: from 
which they had not yet emerged again. Hence 
it might be supposed, that the religious principles 
of the work would need some correction. To a 
certain degree, though much short of what would 
perhaps have been expected, this is the case; 
and I have attempted to supply that correction 
in notes, in a manner which I hope may assist 
those whose views are not yet fully formed. But 
the fact is, that the writer's principles are essen- 
tially sound and good. He admits some expres- 
sions which may be a little revolting to our ears, 
and he defers too long the distinct enunciation of 
the Gospel; but it is at length developed, and 
applied in a very delightful manner. The temper 
and state of mind which are described as being 
produced, and as alone constituting the right 
preparation for meeting the pestilence in peace, 
or, in other words, for death and eternity, are, in 
my judgment, thoroughly Christian, and formed 
upon Christian principles. With the slight cor- 
rections, therefore, which are here furnished, I 
can confidently commit the book to the reader—* 
commending both him and it to the blessing of 
Almighty God, 



PREFACE. 



I subjoin one paragraph from the author's 
preface. After adverting to the " proclamations, 
orders of council, directions for ships performing 
quarantine," at the period in which he wrote; 
and €ven to Parliament's " putting the nation to 
the expense of £25,000, to burn two Tur kish 
ships which were suspected to have gooos on 
board that might contain the infection," he pro- 
ceeds : " With respect to our religious prepara- 
tions .... I have seen, I may say, nothing at all 
offered to the public. On the contrary, the whole 
world is intent and busy on their ordinary occa- 
sions : mer pursue the usual course of the world; 
they push their interest, their gain, or their 
pleasures and gaiety, with the same gust, or 
rather more than ever; nay, the cry of the 
nation's follies grows louder and louder every 
day: and so far we are from considering that, 
when God^s judgments are abroad in the earthy 
the inhabitants should learn righteousness ; that 
we are rather learning to be more superlatively 
wicked than ever. Witness the increase of pla3^s 
and playhouses, one being now building, though 
so many are already in use: witness the public 
trading and stock-jobbing on the Sabbath-day: 
witness the raging avarice of the times, by which 
the civil interest of the nation is ruined and 
destroyed : witness, also, our feuds, divisions, and 
heats, as well in religious differences^ as those 



PREJ^ACE. 



xi 



fTiat are political, which are all carried up to 
dre idful extremes." 

Alas! that in successive ages, and under the 
most threatening aspects of Providence, the mi« 
nisters of religion, and seriously-minded persons 
m general, should have to reiterate such com- 
plaints, Alas! that so much of the description 
before us (especially the latter part of it) should 
be so applicable to our own times. Yet let us 
not despond. The perusal of a series of faithful 
sermons, preached on fast-days and other public 
occasions, thirty or forty years ago, has left a 
cheering impression on my mind. Evils have 
been checked, against which the servants of God 
had then to cry out. Good has been ascertained 
and confirmed, of which they could then speak but 
doubtfully. Institutions exist, and flourish, and 
fill the earth with their fruits, of which it scarcely 
entered into their hearts to conceive. Let us 
therefore "thank God, and take courage.'^ Let 
us be " steadfast, unmoveable, always abounding 
in the work of the Lord, knowing that our labour 

not in vain in the luordP 

Hull, December 12, 1831, 



FIRST NARRATIVE, 



The work which is here in part repiibhshed 
treats, first, of preparations against Pesti- 
lence — for warding it off ; and secondly, of 
preparations for Pestilence— for meeting 
the visitation in a proper manner, should 
it please God, after all our precautions, to 
send it upon us. The former are divided 
into Public, or measures to be adopted by 
the government and police ; and Domestic, 
or such as pertain to individuals and fami- 
lies. Respecting the Public Measures we 
shall only remark, that the author discusses 
at some length what he denominates " the 
French method," of surrounding infected 
towns with troops, shutting up sick and well 
together in them, and endeavouring to pre- 
clude the escape of any persons from them^ 
lest they should carry the infection to other 
parts. This he pronounces inhuman in the 
2 



14 



extreme,* and at the same time maintains 
that it has seldom or never been found 
efFectual. He would rather, under proper 
tests and precautions, endeavour to w^ith- 
dravv the sound part of the inhabitants, and 
leave behind only the sick, with proper 
attendants, and such as chose to remain 
and run all hazards. Of the good effects 
of such a proceeding, as far as it was earned^ 
he contends that London itself afforded an 
example at the time of the great plague. 
Within the bills of mortality, indeed, 68,596 
persons died of the plague in the year 1665 ; 
but this was out of a customary population 
estimated at 600,000 : whereas, in Mar- 
seilles, about the time he wrote, nearly the 
same number had died out of 90/100 !f 

^ He subsequently mentions two children, thirteen aiif! 
fourteen years of age, being deliberately shot to death, 
contrary to the entreaties of the very people among whoni 
they had gone, because ^' in mere duty to their distressc!! 
father, who lay sick in the mountains, they had found me;iRj^ 
to pass the lines of Bauphine in the night, to carry hirii 
relief." Also five soldiers, who had the guard of the line>% 
in like manner shot, for having pursued two sheep witiiin 
the lines, to kill them^ lest they should get back and infect 
the country." 

t Tt is afterwards observed, that, though the number of 
persons that died is accounted to the whole year, from De- 
cember 20, 1664, to December 20. 1685, yet the great mass 
died within less than four months, 81,559 being reported as 
having died of all diseases from July 18 to November 14: 
and in the three weeks from August 29 to Septemiber 19, 
24,239. Moreover, the bills of mortality^ neither did nor 
eonid, as circumstajices then were, give account, of all that 



15 



And here he introduces the following de*r 
scription of the state of London at the time 
referred to. The removing of the inha- 
bitants was at that time very great, if we 
may beheve the report of those who were 
then hving ; for, first, the wliole court re- 
moved to Oxford, there was neither parha- 
ment nor term held in London ; so that 
all the nobihty, and gentry, and lawyers 
vanished as it were at once, and there was 
scarcely a living creature to be seen about 
the court. Whitehall was uninhabited, and 
the Park shut up ; the passages every where 
stopped. Nothing was to be seen at the 
great houses of the nobility in Westminster 
and parts adjacent, but a servant or two to 
look after the house ; or perhaps nobody 
within, only a watchman or two at the gate 
night and day to prevent robbing the house. 
And as the plague began in the parish of 
St. Giles in the Fields, the people at that 

.died. Numbers perished in the fields and high-ways^ 
.wandering in their distress and desperation from the town, 
destitute, and not knowing whither to go, and the villages 
about refusing to admit them, or give them any shelter," 
" Thousands also perished in those towns adjacent to Lon 
don, which are not included in the bills of mortality." 
Whence the whole number is spoken of, in round and 
proba.bly not much overrated terms, as amounting to 
10vl,000. — Vincent's estimate of the population of London 
seems to agree with that in the text; for he says, "I believe 
thatj^ye parts in six of the inhabitants were preserved 
Ood's Terrible Voice, p. 148, 1667, 



16 



end of the town fled first ; so that the 
streets looked desolate, and the grass grew 
at the doors and upon the steps of the 
houses; and the streets were in several 
places barricaded at both ends, the inhabit- 
ants being entirely removed and gone. In 
the city, that is to say, within the walls, as 
I have been told, above seven thousand 
houses were quite empty, and the doors 
locked up ; and in most of the rest the 
families were thin, half or more of them 
gone. And this was, w^ithout doubt, the 
reason why the number that died in the 
city was much smaller in proportion than 
in any other part, there dying more, by 
4551, in the two parishes of Stepney and 
White-chapel, than in the whole ninety- 
seven parishes within the walls. For in 
these the people, being generally wealthy, 
provided for themselves and their families' 
by an early flight into the country ; w hereas, 
in the out-parts, the people living thicker 
and closer together, and being poor and 
wanting conveniences, and not able to flee 
for want of friends or money, or both, died 
in heaps, and strengthened the contagion 
by their numbers." 

What an affecting and even av/ful pic- 
ture is this! Well might it be said, ''How 
doth the city sit solitary that was full of 
people! how is she become as a widow!" 



17 



(Lam. i. 1.) What thankfulness do we owe 
to Ahiiighty God, that we have never wit- 
nessed such scenes; and that our country, 
though subsequently threatened, has not 
been revisited by them for the last one 
hundred and sixty years ! What sympathy 
.should we cherish for those who now suffer 
under similar inflictions : and while we 
humbly confess our sinfulness and desert 
of God's judgments, how should we implore 
-of Him " to turn away from us that 
grievous calamity, against which our only 
security is in His compassion !" 

Our author particularly urges, as a pre- 
paratory measure before the plague visits 
or spreads in a place, the removal of cdl the 
children, and young persons under fourteen 
years of age, into country situations; re- 
marking that ^'the distress of poor families 
in the time of the last plague^ by reason of 
the great numbers of children that lay 
starving upon their hands, was inexpressi- 
ble ; and the numbers of them that perished 
in the streets, and in empty houses, some 
by want, some by neglect, some by the loss 
of their parents, and the rest by the dis- 
temper, added exceedingly to the height of 
the bills of mortality-" 

Proceeding to Domestic Preparations, 
he says, '^The pestilence being a conta- 
gious distemper, it is one of the fix^t prin- 
2* 



18 



€iples that every family should abstain, as 
much as possible, from conversing with 
others. When a house is infected with the 
plague, we shut it up. This was done n 
the late plague of 1665 with great severity, 
none being suffered to go in or corne out. 
Here the design is to keep the family from 
giving the plague to the people. When a 
household are sound and uninfected, they 
should shut themselves up: to keep others 
from giving the plague to them. I know 
a family at this time living in Marseilles, 
who, having effectually locked themselves 
up within their o\vn house, and not con- 
versed with the people of the town, never 
had the distemper at all." 

"In order, therefore, to direct any parti- 
cular family, wiio have substance to enable 
them to shut themselves up in so strict a 
manner as would be a^bsolutely necessary," 
he proceeds 'Ho describe a family so se- 
cluded," the account being, he says, "partly 
historical and partly for direction." 

We must here however premise, that it 
is not in order to second his recommenda- 
tion of this or any other preservative against 
the plague that the present account is re- 
published; but merely as an interesting 
and affecting narrative, presenting the best 
picture I have seen of the state of London 
at that awful period. 



19 



^' The family 1 speak of/' he says, lived 
ill the parish of St. Albaii's, Wood-street. 
They consisted of the master of the family 
and his wife, being either of them between 
forty and fifty years of age, and in a pretty 
good state of health; of live children, three 
daughters and two sons ; two maitiserv ants, 
and an apprentice. The person was a 
wholesale grocer, and a considerable dealer. 
He had anotiier apprentice nearly out of 
his time, a porter, and a boy employed in 
his business : but seeing the desolation that 
was coming upon the city, he dismissed the 
boy, and made bim go away by the carrier 
"to his friends in Staffordshire. To h'm 
eldest apprentice he gave the remainder 
of his time, and he went away also. As 
to the porter, he did not lodge in the house 
before ; so there was no occasion for dis~ 
missing him. But he being a poor man, 
and likely to fall into distress for want of 
his employ, his master engaged him to 
come every day and sit at his door^ in a 
lodge which he made for him, from niiie in 
the morning till six at night, as a watch- 
man, and to receive any orders, go on 
necessary errands, carry letters to and from 
the posthousc, and the like. A wooden 
window, covered with plates of tin, was 
made, up two pair of stairs, in which was 
fixed a pully with a rope to let down c>r 



20 



draw up any thing that was wanted, and 
by this rope they often iet down victuals 
and cordials, and what else they thought 
fit, to the poor man, the porter ; and espe- 
cially his wages constantly every week, or 
oftener, as he wanted them. But, when- 
ever this window was to be opened, a flash 
of gunpowder was made near it, an ' no- 
thing suffered to come in from abroad till 
it was sufficiently fumigated and purified." 

Such was the contrivance made for the 
only intercourse which was to be held v ith 
the world without, after the proper time 
for shutting up the family should have 
come. But our author enters largely into 
the particulars of the store of provisions 
which the hero of his narrative thouglit it 
necessary previously to lay in, and which 
the nature of his business and Lis ; ii- 
modations enabled him to procure and stow 
without too much attracting observation* 
He then proceeds as follows : 

With these preparations he began. 
He forbore shutting himself quite in for 
several months after the plague was begun, 
and even till there died above a thousand 
a week ; because, though the infection was 
very terrible in the out-parishes, and espe- 
cially in the w est part of the town, that is 
to say, in Holborn, St. Giles's, Fleet-street^ 
and the Strand, yet the city was very 



21 



liealthy : nor was the distemper felt within 
the walJs, to any degree, till the latter end 
of June or the beginning of July : for in the 
second week of July, when there died, as 
by the weekly bills appeared, 1268 of all 
distempers, there yet died but 28 of the 
plague, in all the ninetj^-seven parishes 
within the walls, and but 16 in the whole 
body of buildings on the Surry side of the 
water. However, the next week after, it was 
doubled again ; and, as he foresaw the in- 
fection overspreading the whole city and all 
the out-parts, like a dreadful torrent, as 
he had always said it would do, he began 
to put his resolutions more strictly in exe- 
cution : for from the beginning of July he 
suffered none of his family to stir out with- 
out the walls of the city, nor in the city to 
any public place, market, exchange, church, 
or the like ; and wrote to all his dealers 
and correspondents in the country not to 
write for any more goods, for that he couid 
not send any thing out into the streets to 
the carriers, or receive any thing in from 
them* 

" The first of July he began to place his 
porter without the door. By the fourteenth 
of July the plague was increased in a 
dreadful manner in the out-parts, so that 
the bills amounted in that week to 1762 of 
all distempers, 1500 of which might be 



g2 



supposed to die of the plague, and the 
Dumber still increasing; their own parish 
being the second that was infected in the 
City. 

*'TilI this time he had taken fresh meat 
of a country woman, a hi^^iev^ who as- 
mrmg him she brought it from Waitham- 
Abbey market, and opened it not till she 
came to his door, he had some satisfaction 
in It ; but now he forbade her also, and al- 
lowed her coming no more. Now therefore 
he opened his magazine, and distributed 
bread or biscuit by weight to his family. 

" Being thus entirely shnt up, they 
scarcely knew iiow it fared with their 
neighbours ; except that thev heard the 
Jineils continually sounding, and their por- 
ter gave them in weekly the bills of ri^or- 
tality, from which they might see what 
^Ireadful havoc the infection made in the 
town around them. 

" After they had been shut up about 
three v/eeks, the porter gave them an ac- 
count that the next house to them but two 
was infected; that three houses on the other 
side of the way were shut up; and that two 
servants out of another house on the same 
side of the way with them, but on the other 
.side of their house, were sent away to the 
Pesthouse, beyond Old-street. 

It was a great satisfaction to them, that 



23 



•the people in the next house to them, ou 
one side, had all gone away into the country 
at the beginning of the visitation, and had 
left the house locked up; all the windows 
barred on the inside, and boarded up on the 
outside ; and had given the charge of the 
house to the constable and the watch. The 
next houses to them, on tlio other side, were 
all inhabited, and ail visited ; and at length 
all shut up; and in one or more of them the 
whole families perished. 

By this time they heard a bell go 
ringing nightly along the streets, but knevv^ 
not what it meant, it not being the sound 
of the ordinary bell-man : and, though they 
heard a voice with the bell, yet, as it did 
not go at first past their door, they could 
not distinguish what was said : and, since 
their porter did not sit at their door in the 
night as he did in the day, they could not 
inquire : but at length their porter informed 
them, that the numbers of people v/ho died 
were so great in the out-parts, that it was 
impossible to bury them in form, or to 
provide coffins for them, nobody daring to 
come into the infected houses; and that the 
Lord Mayor and Aldermen had therefore 
ordered carts to go about, with a beil-mauy 
to carry away the dead bodies: thru this 
had been done in the parishes of Holborn, 
St. Sepulchre's, Cripplegate, and other 



24 



large parishes, above a fortnight ; and thai 
they began now to come into the city, and 
in particular to the parish of St. Olave, 
Silver Street, v/hich was very sickly ; and 
that the carts were come thither the night 
before- This was frightful enough, Silver- 
street being the next parish to St. Alban's, 
only on the other side of the w^ay. And 
the distemper raged violently in both ; so 
that during that fortnight^ which was the 
middle of August, there died near fourscore 
in those two small parishes ; and the num- 
ber was still increasing* The reason of 
this might be partly the joining of both 
these parishes- to the Cripplegate side of 
the wall, and that the parish of Cripplegate 
\vas at that time dreadfully visited — the 
plague having come down that way from 
St. Giles's. The weight of the infection, 
during the latter end of August and the 
beginning of September, lay chiefly on thai 
side of the city; from whence it went on to 
Bishopgate, Shoreditch, White-chapel, and 
so to Stepney, tailing the city with it ; which 
w^as, as it were, carried down with the 
streoDi; for the infection came first into 
the city at Cripplegate, and so spread in a 
few weeks quite over it. 

" At this time, namely, from the be- 
ginning to the end of August, or to the end 
c]^. the first week in September, there died 



25 



from 700 to 800, and almost 900 a week 
in Crippiegate parish only : and then it was 
that the carts were employed in that parish. 
It was indeed impossible to bury so many 
in the ordinary way ; for there died four 
thousand people in five weeks in that parish : 
so that neither could coffins be made, or 
graves dug for them, or even church-yards 
be found to lay them in. Hence they were 
forced to obtain a grant of a piece of land 
from the city, in Finsbury Fields, adjoining 
to the Artillery-ground, which was given 
them for a burying-ground ; and remains 
such to this day. In this they dug vast 
pits, and threw the bodies into them nightly 
by cart-loads; always covering those with 
earth in the morning who had been thrown 
in over night ; and then next night throwing 
in more bodies and more earth; and so on, 
till the pit was filled. It was reported by 
the parish officers, that about 2,200 people 
were thrown into one of those pits.^^ 

" All this while the family continued in 
health, and the cheerful parent encouraged 
them to hope for preservation, whatever 
might happen without doors. But, when 
he received such bad news every day, and 
every night heard the dismal bell with the 
cart, and a voice following it in a mournful 
tone, ^ Bring out your dead ! bring out 
vour dead !' it could not but make heavv 
3 



26 



impressions upon the minds of the master 
and mistress of the family ; and they began 
to look upon one another with sad hearts, 
believing they were all but dead corpses? 
and that the visitation was so appointed by 
heaven, as that it Vvould sweep away the 
whole body of the inhabitants, and that 
none would be left alive. In this distress, 
he prudently ordered all his family to lodge 
on the lower floor, that is to say, up one pair 
of stairs, and as many of them to lie single 
as possible ; and had all the rooms above 
furnished with beds, to lay any of the 
fiimily in that should be taken sick : so that 
if any fell sick, they were to be immediately 
removed into some of those upper rooms, 
as to an infirmary, where they should be 
separated entirely from the rest of the 
family, and a nurse procured from abroad, 
to attend them — who should be drawn up 
by the pully to the wooden shutter, so as 
not to come through the house at all, or 
converse with any in the family. In or- 
dering this, he appointed, that if he himself 
should be taken, he would go immediately 
into the infirmary, and be attended by a 
nurse as above } and that none of his chil- 
dren should be suflfered to go up the stairs, 
or come near him ; and that if he should die, 
his body should be let down by the pully 
also into the cart : and so of the whole 



27 



house: — though his wife assured him, that 
if he was taken ili, she would go up into the 
infirmary, and be shut up with him. 

" We must suppose this gentleman to 
have much more prudence than religion, 
and much more thought for his body than 
for his soul, and so of the rest of his family, 
if he took no care all this while of his 
house, as to their worshipping God. Be 
pleased therefore to suppose, that, as he 
was a serious, pious, good man, so he care- 
fully maintained the worshipping of God in 
his house; that three times every day he 
called his family together in the most solemn 
manner to read to them, and pray to God 
with them ; ahvays committing them with 
the utmost affection and humility to the 
divine protection, and casting hinfiself and 
thern into the arms of God's infinite mercy. 
Twice v'^very week they kept a solemn day, 
giving themselves up to God by fasting and 
prayer. Every night, indeed, looking on 
themselves as dead persons, they lay down 
with disniai apprehensions ; but were still 
comforted with finding themselves, ntorning 
after morning, preserved and in heakh. 

" The careful father was up every day 
the first in the house ; and went to every 
diamber-door, servants' as well as chil- 
dren's, to ask them how they did ; and when 
they answered, ' Very well,' he left them 



28 



with that short return, ' Give God thanks,' 
This he did, that if any had been ill, they 
might immediately have been removed up 
stairs, as is mentioned above. 

''In trie height of the calamity, and when 
(as before) the good man was almost dis- 
couraged; he was still more straitened by 
the loss of his poor faithful porter. He 
missed him at the usual time when he was 
wont to lower down by the puliy a mess of 
broth to him, or some other thing warm for 
his breakfast. Calling to him, he received 
no answer, which made him afraid some- 
thing was amis^ with him. However, he 
heard nothing of him all that day or the 
next ; when, the third day, calling again 
from within the door for him, he was an- 
swered by a strange voice, which told him, 
in a melancholy tone, that Abraham the 
porter was dead. ' And who, then, are 
youV said the master, to the person that 
spoke. ' I am his poor distressed vridow. 
Sir,' said the answerer, ' come to tell you 
that your poor servant is gone.' — He was 
greatly afflicted at the loss of so useful and 
so faithful a person. However, he com- 
posed himself, and said to her, ' Alas 1 poor 
woman, and what canst thou do then V — 
' Oh, Sir,' said she, ' I am provided for : 
I have the distemper upon me ; I shall not 
be long after him.' He was perfectly 



29 



astonished and surprised at her last words, 
and, as he said, they made his heart cold 
within him. However, as he stood sur- 
rounded with the smoke of gunpowder, and 
within the wooden shutter, he did not im- 
mediately retire; but said to her again: 
' If you are in such a condition, good 
woman, why did you come out ?' ' I came,' 
said she, ' Sir, because I knew you would 
want poor Abraham to wait at your door, 
and I would let you know.' ' Well, but,' 
.^aid he, ' if he is dead, I fmist want him ; 
^ou cannot help me, that are in such a 
condition as you speak of.' ' No, Sir,' said 
she, ' / cannot help you ; but I have brought 
you an honest poor man here, that will 
serve you as faithfully as poor Abraham 
did.' ' That is kindly done,' said the mas- 
ter : ' but how do I know what he is ? and, 
as he comes with you that are sick, how do 
I knov/ that he is not infected ? I shall not 
dare to touch any thing that comes from 
him.' ' Oh, Sir,' said she, ' he is one of 
the safe men ; for he has had the distemper, 
and is recovered : so he is out of danger, 
or else I would not have brought him to 
you ; he will be very honest.' This was an 
encouragement to him, and he w^as very 
glad of the new man ; but would not be- 
lieve the story of his being recovered, till 
he brought the constable of the parish where 

3% 



30 



he lived, and another person, to vouch for 
it. While this was doing, the poor woman, 
after some further questions, and some 
money tiirown down to her for her relief, 
went away. 

^'It was observable now, that, whereas 
they had found it, as is said above, very 
melancholy at first to hear so many knells 
going continually, so on a sudden they 
remarked, that there was not one kneli to 
be heard. The reason, as the new porter 
told them, was, that the number of those 
who died was so great, that they had 
forbidden the bells ringing for any one ; 
and the dead were all fetched away by the 
carts, — rich as well as poor. 

" Many thousands of persons would now 
Imve fled away if they could, but nobody 
would let them pass ; and the enclosed 
family began to be in great terror, for the 
houses uere desolated round about them. 
The numbers that died were scarcely to be 
reckoned up ; the bills gave an account of 
nearly 1500 a week within the walls, not- 
withstanding the vast number of people 
that were gone away into the country ; so 
that it was the master's opinion that there 
would not one soul remain in the whole 
city, but that all would perish. However, 
he concealed his fears as Well as he was 
able ; and continued both his care over 



31 



liis family, and his earnest prayers to God 
every day, and, as I may say, every hour, 
for them. 

" In the midst of this misery, and as he 
began to be very well pleased and much 
assisted by his new porter, and particularly 
in that he was one that, having had the 
distemper, was, as he concluded, in no 
danger of having it again ; he was surprised 
with a fresh affliction : for, calling one 
morning to his new porter, nobody an- 
swered. He called several times again, 
and all that day and the next he heard 
nothing of him ; but all the satisfaction he 
could get was from a watchman, who stood 
at the door of a house that was shut up- 
all which houses had Lord, have mercy! and 
a great red cross set on the door, and a 
watchman placed without, to prevent any 
coming out or going in. The watchman, 
hearing the master of the house call the 
porter by his name, answered, and told 
him the poor man that used to stand at the 
door was sick of the plague, and he sup- 
posed was dead. The master answered, 
* I know he was sick that I had first, and is 
dead ; but this was another.' ' Well, Sir,' 
said the watchman, ' but he may be sick 
and dead too, I suppose, as well as the 
first.' ^ No, no!' said the master, 'you 
must mistake : you mean the first.' ' No, 



33 



Sir,' replied the watclimaii ; I knew your 
iirst man, Abraham, ^v^s dead ; but this 
man was called Thomas Molins, was he 
not?' ' Yes,' said the master: ' Then it 
is he I mean. Sir,' answered the watchman. 
' Why, that cannot be,' said the master ; 
' he had been ill of the plague before, and 
was recovered ; and he cannot have it 
again.' ' Alas ! Sir,' said the watchman, 
' it is that I suppose makes you so hard to 
understand me. I know it is many people's 
opinion, that when any have had the dis- 
temper, they are secure: but, I assure you^ 
it is a mistake ; for 1 have been twice 
recovered of it in the Pesthouse, and been 
well a fortnight between the times ; and 
now I am abroad again ; but I do not 
think myself safe at all by that ; for I know 
several that have had it three or four times ; 
and some tharhave recovered three or four 
times have notwithstanding died of it after- 
wards.' ' And is my porter, Molins, sick 
of it again ?' said the master. ' Yes, Sir,' 
said the watchman, ' I heard he was ; but I 
will acquaint you more particularly to- 
morrow.' Accordingly the next day, he 
called to the watchman again, who told him 
that he had inquired, and found that poor 
Molins, the porter, w^as carried away by the 
dead-carts, as they called them, the night 
before. His master was surprised exceed- 



33 



ingly at this, and shut the wooden door 
immediately without speaking a word more, 
and going in sat him down, grieved most 
iieartily, and Vept by himself a great 
while, to think that two poor men had thus 
lost their lives, as it were, to preserve 
him. 

"After some time, he considered that 
there was no room for him to be discou- 
raged ; so, he went to his wife, and took a 
large glass of Canary wine, which was his 
usual cordial, and, putting as good a coun- 
tenance on it as he could, said nothing to 
his family of the death of the poor man; 
but resolved to remain quietly in the con- 
dition he was in : and, as it pleased God 
that all his house continued in pretty good 
health, he fek that he had great reason to 
be comforted and thankful for that ; and 
not to allow any sorrows for others to affect 
his mind. 

In this posture he remained about a 

fortnight more, having no manner of cor-- 
respondcnce with the street; and he hai 
resolved to have no more porters ; so that 
he was perfectly without intelligence, ex- 
cept that siili he found the watchman he 
had formerly talked with, every day before 
the door of the house, as he thought, where 
he was at first. But after about a fort- 
ni^rht he ^rrew imnatient at )}eiD2' so entirely 



34 



^vitiiout intelligence, and at seeing none of 
the weekly bills, and hearing nothing but 
the doleful noise of the dead-cart, and the 
bell. Therefore, I say, at the end of the 
fortnight, he opened his wooden window, 
and, calling to the watchman, asked him 
Low he did; and how that hoi-se was where 
he was placed ; supposing it the same where 
he had been before. ' Alas ! master,' said 
the poor man, ' the distressed family are 
all dep.d and gone, except the journeyman, 
and he is carried to the Pesthouse, and I 

am placed at Mr. -'s, at the next 

door ; and they have three people sick and 
one dead here.' He asked him then, in 
general, how it went in the city ? He told 
him, very badly ; that the last week's bill 
was above 8000 of all distempers; that it 
decreased at the other end of the town, in 
St. Giles's, and in Holborn, the people being 
most of them dead or gone away ; but that 
it increased dreadfully towards Aldgate and 
Stepney ; and also in Southwark, where it 
had been more moderate before than in 
any other part. In a v/ord, this being the 
middle of S^Bptember, the plague VvTis now 
in its utmost fury and rage, only that, as 
above, it was abated in the v/est end of the 
town, where it began ; and, as the poor 
man told him, it had decreased a little in 
Cripplegate parish, though there still died 



35 



there between four and five hundred a 
week. In the parish of Stepney, the deaths 
w^cre above eight hundred a week. 

'* It was heavy news to this poor gentle- 
man to hear to what a frightful height the 
calamity was come ; and yet it was some 
encouragement that it began to go off 
toward the east, and that it had decreased 
so much in Cripplegate parish ; and he 
failed not to let his family know it. But 
still, as the houses on both sides of him, 
and almost the whole row on the side 
opposite to him, were distempered, acd 
some whole families dead, it was very ter- 
rible to thern to think how they yet lived in 
the m'uUt of death. 

His family began now to be sorely 
afflicted for want of fresh air : and, with 
continued eating of salt meats, they began 
to grow scorbutic and out of order. He 
did what he could, by desiring them to stir, 
and be active and busy about the house, to 
preserve health ; but would by no means 
suffer any window or door to be opened ; 
but, as the weather began to be cooler than 
it had been, he continued to keep fires in 
every room on that floor where they lodged, 
and had two of his family, who by turns sat 
up half a night, and two more the other 
half of the night, to keep the fires in, and 
watch the house for fear of mischief. This 



scorbutic iliiiess increased pretty much upon 
them, till it was relieved at last hy the free 
use of lime and lemon juice, which he had 
provided among his stores. 

The streets were now a melancholy 
sight to look into. The pavement was 
overgrov/n with grass ; it was not one time 
in: twenty, that they looked through the 
glass, (for they never opened any case- 
ment,) that they could see any body going 
along, or so much as a door open. As for 
the shops, they were all shut close, except 
that the apothecaries' and chandlers' shops 
kept a door open for the letting people 
eome for what they v/anted. Not a coach 
or a cart was to be seen, except now and 
then a coach carrying a sick body to the 
Pesthouse ; and every night, three or four 
times a night, the dead-cart was heard, 
with the bell-man crying — ' Bring out your 
dead!' 

^' The pool' master of the house was now 
so impatient for w^ant of his porter, that he 
could not content himself without opening 
his wooden window two or three times, to 
talk with the watchman, who continued 
posted at the door of the house that was 
shut up, and to inform himself how things 
went; but at last he looked for him, and 
found he was gone too, which was a great 
Toss to him ; and he w as the more troubledj 



3t 

because he intended to have given him 
some money. But one day, as he was 
looking through the glass, he spied the man 
standing on the other side of the street, 
and looking up tovv ards his house. Upon 
this he ran immediately to his wooden Vv in- 
dow, and opened it, though not forgetting 
to make the usual smoke with gunpowder 
for his preservation. IVhen he had opened 
the window, the poor watchman told him 
he was glad to see him still alive ; and that 
he had come twice before in hopes to see 
him, but vras afraid he had not been well ; 
that he came to tell him he was dismissed 
from the house he had been set to watch, 
most of the poor people being dead ; and 
that, if he pleased to accept of it, he would 
sit at his door in the day-time, as his two 
porters had done. He was glad of the 
offer, and engaged him to take his post 
at the door. 

" The man had not been at the door 
many days, when he called to his master, 
and told him he was glad to give him the 
good news that the infection abated, and 
that the weekly bill was now decreased 
1837 in one week — which had of a sudden 
excited a great deal of joy among the 
people. This was about the last week in 
September. The next week the bill de^ 
creased again between six and seven hun- 



dred; though the whole number was still 
5725. The burials in Cripplegate, how- 
ever, amounted only to 196— which was 
but a very few compared to 886 a week, 
which had died there a few weeks before. 
So that the plague was as much ceased to 
them, as it would have been to the whole 
city, if there had not died above 1000 or 
1200 per week. 

His sons would fain have had him now, 
like Koah, send out a dove, — that is, let 
them go out of doors to see how things 
were, and how the city looked ; and they 
urged him the more, because they began 
to hear a noise of people in the streets 
passing to and fro, and that pretty often ; 
but he kept his guard, and would not let 
any one stir out, on any terms, or on any 
pretence whatever. 

" The next week but two, which was the 
third in October, there was another great 
decrease in the bill; and now his porter 
knocked at the door, and desired to speak 
with his master, to tell him some good 
news. The master of the family soon 
appeared at his usual wooden window, 
with one of his sons and one of his daugh- 
ters. The watchman told him, that now^ 
he hoped he could assure him that the 
visitation was really going off ; that there 
had died 1849 less last week than the week 



39 



before ; and that the Lord Mayor had 
ordered the carts to cease going about, 
except twice a week, in several parts of the 
city, and in others but once each night ; 
and that there had died biit eighty-eight Ir 
Cripplegate parish that week of all dis- 
eases; that indeed the distemper continued 
very high in Stepney, and especiaily in 
Southwark ; but that in the city it was 
extremely abated. He let down to the 
poor man, for his good news, a pint bottle 
of good sack, and a small basket with 
provisions for him and his family. Hence- 
forward they turned their two days of 
fasting, which they had constantly kept in 
the family every week, into one day of 
fasting and one day of thanksgiving. 

" But now on a sudden, to the great 
surprise of the whole family, the master 
himself, who was the life and spring of 9JI 
the rest, and of all the management which, 
under God^ had so evidently preserved 
them, was taken very sick. It is not for 
me, at this distance, to describe the terrible 
consternation they were all in. Not only 
the whole family concluded he w^as struck 
with the plague, but he himself, from the 
apprehension that he should be the means 
of giving it to his children, would insist 
upon their having him carried out to the 
Pesthouse. His wife and all the childrerj 



40 



declared against it, and protested to liim, 
every one of them, that they would rather 
have the distemper with him, and leave the 
event to God's mercy. By these importuni- 
ties he was prevailed upon ; but he ordered 
abed to be made immediately in one of the 
upper rooms, mentioned before, and w^ent 
presently to bed, taking such things as were 
prescribed publicly by the College of Phy- 
sicians, to be given on any one's being first 
seized with the plague, which were designed 
to provoke perspiration. Upon taking these 
things he fell into a profuse perspiration, 
and continued so all night. Any one may 
suppose the family had but little sleep that 
night, being in the utmost concern for so 
careful and so kind a father ; as also so 
very anxious to know whether he had the 
distemper or not. No more can I repre- 
sent in a lively maimer enough the joy there 
%vas in the house, when the next day they 
found their father, who had fallen into a 
good sleep, was so much refreshed, and so 
well, as to satisfy them all that his disorder 
w^as not at all infectious ; but that it rather 
proceeded from the great weight and pres- 
sure of his cares, which had been too heavy 
for his spirits, and withal from having 
taken some cold, as they thought, by 
standing too lonsr talkins^ at the wooden 
window to his watchman. In tw^o or three 



41 



Jays, he was about the house again, and 
tolerably well. 

While the master of the house lay thus, 
the family had no joy of the decrease of the 
plague ; for what was the decrease to them, 
if it broke out now in their own house ? — 
But, as soon as he recovered a little, then 
they began to look abroad again for intelli- 
gence. And now they could see through 
their windows a new face of things in the 
streets, and upon the houses ; that thv 
people began to go up and down the streets 
very frequently ; and some began to open 
their shops, at least to open them half way. 
The hackney coaches also were heard rum- 
bling in the streets ; so that, without calling 
to the porter, they could easily perceive that 
the distemper was greatly decreased, and 
that the people who were left had more 
courage than before ; in a word, that the 
plague was going off, at least in the city, 
and chiefly on that side where they lived. 
Their porter, or watchman, confirmed it to 
them the next day, when the weekly bill 
came about, which he brought to them. 
The master contented himself with hearing 
how it was, but would not let the bill be 
taken in ; nor would he yet abate one tittle 
of his strict guarding of his family from 
conversing with the streets. It was now 
the last week in October, and so greatly 
4* 



was the plague decreased, that there were 
but twenty-two buried of it in all Cripple- 
gate parish, and but twenty-eight the week 
before, which was almost as surprising as 
the great rise of it at first ; though even 
this week the bills were high in Stepney 
parish and in Southw^ark. 

Now, though this was joyful news to 
this, as w ell as to other families, yet he was 
as anxious about the danger of opening his 
doors too soon, as he had been at first of 
keeping them open too long. He w'as aware 
that people w ould be rash in their joy, and 
that, presuming on the health of the city 
being re-established, they w^ould return to 
their houses, and bring out their goods, on 
w^hich others had died, and air them, too 
soon, and so perhaps bring back the infec- 
^on. And it was just as he had said ; for 
about the middle of November the bills on 
a sudden increased 400 at once, and rose 
from a thousand to fourteen hundred. The 
city was in a terrible fright on that occa- 
sion; but it pleased God that it went ofi:' 
again, and, the weather coming in cool, the 
distemper abated again, and the bills con- 
tinued decreasing, till, in the third week of 
November, they were once more under a 
thousand of all distempers, whereof only 
652 were of the plague. 

It is true that, considering the number 



43 



of people who were dead, which was very 
near a hundred thousand of all diseases, 
and the great number that had fled away, 
which, according to the most moderate 
guess, was at least three times as many; 
considering the numbers who had had 
the distemper, and were recovered, who, 
though, as was evident in the case of the 
second porter, they were not entirely free 
from the danger of its return, yet were 
not so very easily infected as others — I 
say, considering this, the dying of 652 a 
week now, was as much as the dying of 
2000 a week was at the beginning of 
August. This made the householder con- 
tinue his caution with the same rigour as 
ever, and, indeed, with rather more; for 
he remembered well what a consternation 
the people were every where in, when the 
plague was so increased, that there died 
from 800 to 1000 a week of all distempers ; 
and even in the week I now speak of, 
which was from the 14th to the 21st of 
November, the bill stood at 905, whereof, 
as already stated, 652 v/ere of the plague. 

Besides, there died of the plague that 
very week, in the city^ above twice the 
number that died in the week from the 
21st to the 28th of July, when the bill was 
1761 in all ; for then there died but fifty- 
six in all the city within the walls, whereas 



44 



now there died 127 of the plague ; so that 
the city was not so healthy then as the 
o«t-parts. 

All these things he calculated exactly ; 
and, as he said, was very loth to lose all the 
fruit of his care and caution, and of the 
close confinement he had submitted to, by 
a rash and needless adventure. His rea- 
sons were so good, and their own safety so 
much concerned, that his family submitted 
to the restraint with the more cheerfulness, 
though they began to labour hard for 
breath at that time, and to be very desi- 
rous of air, having been shut up so closely 
and so long. 

At length, on the first of December, he 
opened his street-door for the first time, 
and walked out. The bill of mortality the 
week before was 544 of all diseases, whereof 
only 333 were of the plague, and nearly 
half of that number were in Stepney parish, 
and on the Southwark side of the river, 
where the sickness continued latest, as it 
had been longest before it began. The 
first of December, I say, he walked out ; 
but he suflTered none of his family to stir 
but himself. He viewed the streets, the 
houses, and shops, but conversed with no 
one ; nor did he see any body that he knew, 
except a few just in his own neighbourhood. 
A vast number of houses were standing 



45 



empty and deserted, the inhabitants being 
gone into the country ; yet, in some of 
these, he observed servants returned, who 
had opened the windows and doors, and 
were, as we call it, airing the houses and 
the goods ; making fires in all the rooms, 
opening the windows, and burning per- 
fumes ; and in that manner preparing the 
houses for the return of the famihes that 
belonged to them. The number of people 
in the streets was greater, indeed, than he 
had expected -; but this seemed to be occa- 
sioned rather by the cui iosity of those who 
W'Cre left, which led them to go more 
abroad than otherwise they would have 
done; for, in the back streets, and ways 
less frequented, he found very few. 

" He came home again in a few hours, 
not having visited any body, or made any 
inquiries after any of his friends, or any 
one else ; and resolved to keep up his close 
quarters one week longer. Nor would he 
buy any fresh provisions, or suffer any one 
to go to market ; but resolved upon some 
new measures, which he put in practice the 
week following. At that time he v^ent out 
early in the morning, and taking his eldest 
son and his apprentice with him, walked 
on foot as far as Tottenham High-Cross. 
Finding there a house of one of his 
acquaintance, which had not been infected 



46 



at all, he took lodgings or apartments in it 
for his whole family, and the same day 
returned to London. In the course of the 
week he removed them all thither, carrying 
his own goods, and some part of his provi- 
sions ; all which he caused to be fetched 
by waggons belonging to the country people, 
and such as he had good information were 
sound, and had not been infected at all. 

Here he not only relieved his family 
with fresh air, which they so much wanted, 
but with fresh provisions also,, which he had 
now brought to them from Waltham market, 
by his old higgler, who had supplied the 
family at the beginning of the year. 

He left his house in London fast locked 
up, except the gate into his yard, the key 
of which he gave to the honest watchman, 
and went himself, or his son, or his ap- 
prentice, two or three times a week, to see 
that every thing was safe and in good 
order. And thus he continued till the 
February following ; for all the month of 
December and January, the plague con- 
tinued in the city ; and at the latter end of 
December it began to increase again ; 
which was believed to be occasioned by the 
people's returning faster than ordinary to 
their dwellings ; so that the third week in 
December, the increase was eighty-three ; 
^nd then there died of the plague still 281. 



47 



the whole bill being 525. But by the 
beginning of February, the family being 
well recovered and refreshed, and all in 
perfect health, and the city being filled 
again with people, and in a pretty good 
state of health, he removed all back again, 
and came to his house, opened his doors, 
and carried on his business as before. 

" Thus, next to the protection of God's 
providence, a complete retirement from 
the street, and from conversing on any 
account whatever with the rest of the 
people ; separating from them, and having, 
as we may say, nothing to do with them, 
either to buy, or sell, or speak, or sit with 
them, or near them; was proved to be 
capable of effectually preserving a man or 
a family, in the time of the direst in- 
fection. 

" I will not suppose this man or his 
family, who were so severe in fasting and 
hunibling themselves before God all the 
time they w ere under apprehensions of the 
distemper, and surrounded with daily expe- 
rience of the dreadful calamity that lay 
upon the city, could so far forget them- 
selves now^ as not to give God thanks in 
the most solemn manner possible for their 
deliverance. That part I take for granted. 
They could not be rational creatures, much 
less Christians, and retain no sense of 



48 



such a signal preservatiou. I will there- 
fore, I say, take that for granted, and sug- 
gest that the master of the family , with the 
utmost seriousness of devotion, performed 
this part, and that he obliged all his family 
to do the like. 

" I am also to observe that, whereas this 
gentleman had laid in a magazine of stores 
sufficient for his family for a whole year, 
and yet was not shut up above seven* 
months or thereabouts, he had a quantity 
of various articles remaining ; and these, 
you are to understand, that he brought out 
when the markets were open, and provisions 
came in plenty again, and might be pro- 
cured without danger, and made a thank- 
offering of them to the poor, namely 

1500 lbs. of biscuit. 

300 lbs. of cheese. 

5 hogsheads of beer. 

5 flitches of bacon. 

2 barrels and more of salted beef.'^ 

Thus, with his piety towards God, he 
combined, as was so befitting the occasion^ 
charity to the poor, — numbers of whom 
must needs be, at such a time, in cir- 
cumstances of the greatest exigency and 
distress. 



SECOND NARRATIVE. 



We now come to preparations for the 
Pestilence ; preparations of mind, such as 
may fit us for meeting the visitation with- 
out injury, should God be pleased to send 
it upon us ; and that, whether its issue to 
us be life or death. " This," our author 
observes, is the hardest part of the work 
by far; but, of the two, of infinitely the 
greater consequence ; in proportion as the 
eternal state into which we are all to pass 
from this life, is more important than the 
present state. Life and time," he proceeds, 
** are, indeed, of inestimable value ; but 
tliey are so only, or principally, as on the 
happy conclusion of them depends the eter- 
nal welfare of the person to whom they 
are so valuable. The preparations for an 
eternal state are only to be made in time, 
which, once slipped away, lost and unap- 
plied, is irrecoverably lost for ever. 
5 



50 



The approaches of death are often- 
times imperceptible, and the attacks sud- 
den ; the distempers by which we are carried 
away are violent ; and it is a double terror 
to the dying person to have the work of 
dying and the work of repentance both upon 
his hands together. O sinner! remember 
that the terrors of thy conscience will be a 
weight too heavy to be borne at the same 
time with the terrors of death: nay, the 
terrors of conscience are those alone which 
give terrors to death, and make the passage 

out of life dreadful It is enough to 

have a violent fever drink up the moisture 
and life, and not at the same time to have 
the arrows of the Almighty drinking up the 
spirits. Therefore, that we may prepare 
in time for the dreadful moments which are 
approaching; that when the call is heard, 
no other noise may drown our comforts; 
and that the business of life may now, 
without any delay, be to prepare for death ; 
that such may be the case, this tract is 
written. The apprehensions that we are 
under at this time of the approaching 
calamity, which afflicts our neighbours,* 
are a summons to this preparation ; and 
that more forcible than can be given from, 
the mouth of man; and many thousands 



^ The French. 



51 



will have reason to be thankful for so long 
a warnihg, so timely a summons — even all 
who listen to its voice. The goodness of 
God is very conspicuous in this, that as a 
pestilence, when it comes, sweeps whole 
towns and cities of people away, and death 
rages like an overflowing stream, giving 
little time then for repentance and calling 
upon God; so more time is usually given 
beforehand for these purposes, and that 
time accompanied with greater advantages, 
from the impression which is made on the 
minds of men. That solemn interval ought 
to be taken as the allotted time of prepara- 
tion, and to be improved accordinglv. Of 
this you shall now be more fully admon- 
ished, in some discourses which took place 
in a family in London, just before the last 
great plague. 

The time before that dreadful visitation 
was, as the present is, a time of apprehen- 
sion and alarm ; though the warning was 
not so long, or the danger so remote. The 
distemper, according to that eminent phy- 
sician Dr. Hodges, was brought to Holland 
on board a ship, in some bales of goods 
from the Levant. From Holland it came 
over hither ; how, or by whom, was never 
particularly known to the public. The first 
that died of it here, at least that was put 
into the bills openly as dead of the plaguoi 



52 



was in the parish of St. Giles in the Fieldse 
It was reported that the whole family died ; 
and I have some reason to beheve they did; 
but there was but one entered in the weekly 
bill, and this was about the 20th of Decem- 
ber, 1664. 

This was heaven's first alarm to the 
city of London. As it was a blow near the 
heart, or in the capital itself, and not, as in 
France, almost four hundred miles off, so it 
more nearly touched the people, and their 
apprehensions seemed to be in proportion 
more serious and affecting. 

At this period, two brothers and a 
sister, the children of one pious and serious 
mother, a widow, lived together in one 
house in the city. They were all grown 
to years of discretion, the sister (the 
youngest) being about nineteen, and one of 
the brothers nearly forty ; the other about 
twenty-six years of age. The sister was a 
most religious and well-instructed young 
woman : the brothers, men of business, 
engaged in it, and taken up much with it. 
They had all been religiously educated, 
and were what we call sober and orderly 
people ; but the gentlemen, being engrossed 
in business, and hurried in the world, 
getting money and growing rich, had not 
made the concern of eternal life their chief 
business, as we all ought to do. They 



53 



were merchants, and had lived abroad; 
but, having returned to England, they had 
large concerns, and transacted much busi- 
ness both on the Royal Exchange and at 
the water-side. As the eldest of the two 
brothers was a widower, and had but two 
children, who were very small, and the 
youngest brotlier a bachelor, the young 
lady, their sister, was their housekeeper, and 
they called her familiarly their Governess. 
And such she was indeed, many ways f 
dicing not only the guide of their whole 
amily, which was large, but a faithful 
monitor to themselves also, as occasion 
presented; though not at first with all the 
success that she could have wished. The 
'kdy did not live in the house with them, 
but^ hcvving two or three younger children 
with her, lived a little way out of town. 
She had also two other sons, young gentle- 
men of about nineteen and twenty years of 
age, who were abroad in Spain or Italy, 
and placed in very good business by the 
directions and on account of their brothers. 
The good mother of this family having 
received early impressions, as all the town 
indeed had, that a heavy and grievous 
judgment was coming upon the city and 
upon the whole nation, began to have a 
heavy heart, and to be deeply concerned oa 
account of her sons ; and, as she came fre- 
5* 



54 



qiiently to town, she failed not on every 
occasion to be putting them in mind what 
a stroke, as she said, was coming upon the 
nation, and upon the city in particular; 
and to let them know^ what a dismal time 
it would be with all those people especially 
whose eternal state w^as not secured, and 
Vv'ho had not the comfort of a safe passage 
out of life in prospect. This she urged 
upon her children every time she came to 
see them ; and particularly would be repre- 
senting to them how it was in London in 
the time of the great plague, as it was then 
called, which had been twenty-nine years 
before, and which, said she, I very w^ell re- 
member, having lived here al! that tirrw, 
and lost several relations and acquaintr* es 
who died of the infection : and likewi„ in 
the plague eleven years before that, in 
1624-5, when there died of all distempers 
above 54,000 people in London and the 
out-parishes, not reckoning the city of West- 
minster, or the parishes of Stepney, Hack- 
ney, Islington, Lambeth, Rotherhithe, or 
Christ-church, and Nev/ington in Surrey. 

She talked so often of this, that her 
eldest son used to tell her she was a little 
too positive ; that it looked as if she would 
be thought prophetic; that the plague was 
not actually broken out because one man 
had died of it ; that he believed it was al- 



55 



ways in one part or other of the city a little ; 
that the plague of 1636, which she remem- 
bered, held eight years ; and that every year 
there died more or less, from 300 to 3000 ; 
that there was yet no publication of it ; 
and I hope, madam, said he, there will be 
none now. He urged, therefore, that they 
should not be always alarming one another 
as if the evil were at the door ; that it was 
terrible enough when it came, but that to 
be always in a fright about it, was to make 
it a judgment, while it was no judgment ; 
and the like. In a word, like her sister- 
preachers, Mary Magdalen and the other 
women, her loords seeined to them as idle 
tales. Luke xxiv. 11. 

" However, as a truly affectionate mother, 
she continued her monitory discourses to 
them. 'You, sons,' said she, 'are grown 
up, and are above my admonition ai5 a 
mother ; but you cannot be out of the reach 
of exhortation, and you ought not to take 
it amiss that I press you to prepare for the 
dreadful time of a visitation, in case it 
should come.' ' No, madam,' said the 
eldest son, ' none of your children will take 
it amiss ; but we think you make your com- 
pany, which was always pleasant to us, to be 
a little melancholy, for that you are always 
upon this frightful subject. I doubt it is 
too much upon your mind, and makes you 



56 



heavy-hearted when you might be cheerful/ 
Thus their discourse began. 

''Mother. I cannot look back, chil(!) 
without horror of mind, upon the dreadful 
time in the year 1625. 1 was but newly 
married and settled in the world ; and we 
were all full of mirth as you are now : and 
on a sudden the distemper broke out, and 
all our smiles were turned into lamentations 
and tears. 

Son. It came suddenly, it may be, 
without any warning. 

M. No, no ; people had warning too : but 
we that were young people then, just as 
you are now, would take no notice of it : we 
were marrying and giving in marriage to 
the very day that it came upon us ; and, 
when good people spoke to us of repent- 
ing, and preparing to meet the Lord in 
his day of wrath, and humbling ourselves 
under his mighty hand, we thought them, 
just as you do now, too melancholy and 
phlegmatic; that they did not do well to 
alarm the public, and put families and 
cities into fright and disorder : and thus 
we went on. 

S. Well, madam, and yet, for all that, 
it may be you thought as seriously of it 
when it came as they did. 

M* Ay, son, but they that had thought 
seriously of it so long before had a great 



advantage of us, and were so much before 
us in their preparations. 

S. They had so much more indeed to 
answer for, if they were not better pre- 
pared. 

M. I think, son, it should be rather said, 
we had so much the more to answer for, if 
we were worse prepared. 

S. But, madam, what can we do in the 
case as it stands now? every one ought to 
prepare for death, whether there be a 
plague in the town or not : death comes in 
many other shapes than that of a pestilence- 

M. That is true, child, and I do not 
speak against daily preparation for death : 
God forbid that I should: but, when an 
infection comes, child, death seems to come 
with more terrors about him, cuts down 
swifter, and we have less time to think of 
what is to follow. 

S. Some reflect upon the severity of the 
judgment, on that very score ; in that 
people are swept away with a stroke, and 
have scarce time to look up. 

M. No, son, let none say so ; for I 
affirm that God's mercies are so inter- 
spersed with his judgments, that we have 
abundant cause to acknowledge them, and 
ought to keep our eye upon them in this 
particular, namely, that God always gives 
people more time to prepare for death in 



58 



the case of a plague than of an ordinary 
distemper. 

How, madam ? That cannot be, for 
in the plague people often die in twelve 
hours after they are taken ; whereas, in 
fevers and other distempers, they generally 
lie as many days or more. 

M. Ay, son, but then you do not consi- 
der that the plague generally approaches a 
country by slow degrees, and you have 
many months' warning of it before it comes ; 
so that, if it swept all away in a day, there 
is no room to call it sudden, for every one 
had warning of it beforehand, 

S. But people do not look on the judg- 
ment as particular, till it touches them 
personally, or points to them in a family 
capacity : that is to say, till it has gotten 
into the house. 

M. That people do not take warning is 
their folly and fault ; but that God gives 
them warning is their mercy, if they knew 
how to make use of it. 

S. Every body is wiUing to hope he shall 
escape. 

M. But every body ought to provide as 
if he were not to escape. Every soldier in 
the army hopes to escape being killed, but 
each soldier puts on his headpiece, that he 
may fare the better if he is hit. 

S> We should prepare, no doubt ; but to 



5& 

be apprehensive continually, as if we were 
sure to have the distemper, is even to fright 
ourselves into it. Alt physicians agree that 
we should keep our minds easy and calm ; 
that the passions of fear and anger prepare 
the constitution to receive and nourish the 
infection, at least to dispirit and debilitate 
us, so that we are not duly fortified to resist 
the enemy which we hav^e to struggle with. 

M. You greatly mistake the thing, child, 
and mistake my meaning : I am of the same 
mind, and say as the doctors do, though 
upon other grounds. The mind should be 
kept calm and unencumbered, that nature 
may be assisted to repulse the enemy that 
attacks her : but then I say, that nothing 
can animate and encourage the mind like 
a firm resignation to the will of God, and 
a comfortable hope that it shall be well 
with us beyond the present life. This is 
certainly the best preparation for the dis« 
temper. 

S. I do not deny that we should be 
always preparing for death ; but we should 
not be discouraging ourselves before it 
comes. 

M. What do you call discouraging your- 
selves ? Preparation is the only way to 
avoid being discouraged. 

jS. You talk of preparation as if I was 
sure it would come upon me. 



60 



M. As soon as we have reasofi to be 
satisfied that the distemper is begun, and is 
come among us, I think every one, as far as 
his preparations are concerned^ should look 
upon himself as if absolutely smitten, as 
much as if he saw the tokens upon his flesh* 

iS. And is not that all phlegmatic and 
vapours, madam ? Do not many, do you 
think, in the plague as well as in other dis- 
tempers, fancy they have it, till they really 
bring it ; and so have it, because they fancied 
they should have it ? 

You forget what I said, son : I said 
as to our preparations. 

S. You distinguish nicely, madam ; but 
others will take it another way, 

M> I distinguish clearly, son, though not 
so nicely as you represent. I say, as to 
our prepai'ations we should do thus : that is 
to say, we ought to prepare for death, as 
if we had the distemper just now upon us* 
And my reason is good ; because I can 
assure you, when the body is exhausted 
and tortured with that distemper, there will 
be as little capacity as there may be time 
to look up to God, and to prepare for death. 

S. Why, madam, you would have us all 
think ourselves dead men, or as if we were 
under a sentence of death; only reprieved 
a little while, and to he executed at the 
pleasure of the judge. 



M. Why truly our case is no other than 
that, in the whole ordinary course of life. 
We are all appointed to die^ and after death 
to judgment; (Heb. x. 27, 28 ;) only for the 
present we have a merciful reprieve. The 
comparison may be frightful, but it is really 
not so remote from the fact ; and in the 
present instance of the plague breaking out 
in the city or towai where we live, it is 
much more to the purpose ; especially with 
respect to persons whose business and cir- 
cumstances call them to continue in the city 
on such an occasion, as you say yours do. 

S. Well, madam, you have been in the 
city during two plagues, that in 1625, and 
that in 1636, and you are still alive : why 
may we not fare as w^eil now, if it should 
come 

M. The more I have of the mercy of 
God to account for, child. But I cannot 
say I was in the city all the while ; for, the 
last plague, I was absent in Cheshire. But 
in the first indeed I saw wonderfid things, 
and terrible to relate: and this makes me 
say that we should all look upon ourselves 
as dead persons, or as reprieved criminals ; 
and, giving up ourselves entirely into God's 

^ How obvious that the alternative to be prepared for is 
the other — that of our not so escaping. Our preparation 
<jto say the least) will not hurt us, if we escape ; but, if we 
cTo not, what will be the effect of our neglect of preparation ? 

6 



62 



Tiands, should stand ready expectiiig^ to 
answer at the first call, and to say, Come, 
Lord Jems: for, take my word, son, if it 
comes, you will say it is a time to tremble 
at; a time to be prepared for, not a time 
to prepare in. 

S* But, madam, it may please God to 
avert the judgment ; he may be better to 
us than our fears. 

M. If it should be so, no man would ever 
repent of his preparations, if they were 
sincere; or say it was so much pains lost. 
But flatter not yourself, son, with its not 
coming: it is not coming, but come: have 
you rrot seen it begun? There are several 
dead of it already, and more than you think 
of. 

S. One or two have died in St. Giles's 
parish indeed, but that was last December; 
and w^e are now in March, and there has 
been but one more ; so that I hope it is 
over. 

M. That hoping it is over is a snare of 
the devil : flatter not yourself with it. When 
the plague begins, though there be but one 
or two that die at first,^ you never hear that 
it goes off* so: it always goes on, though it 
begins slowly : and that slow^ness of its be- 
ginning is what I call the merciful warning 
given to us all of the approach of the judg- 
ment. 



63 



So that, when one or two die, you 
would have us take it the plague is begun i 

M. Yes, I do insist upon it, and that it 
always goes on. But further, let me tell 
you, I know very well that, when our weekly 
bills set down one or two to die of the plague, 
you may depend upon there being more ; 
for people are always diligent to conceal 
their families being infected ; because they 
would not have their shops forsaken, their 
houses shut up, or themselves shunned as 
belonging to distempered families; and 
therefore, in tl^e last plague of 1636, I 
remember there was so much fraud used 
by the parish clerks in forming the weekly 
bills, that it was certain there died 200 a 
week of the plague, when by the bills there 
were stated only ten, twelve, fifteen, or 
thereabouts. 

S> So that you look upon the plague as 
a thing already begun among us? 

M. Indeed, child, I do : and I believe 
firmly that it is so at this time. 

S. And what would you have us do ? 

]SL My answers, son, are short to that 
question, whether you mean by us^ us of this 
family, or of the nation: I w^ould have us 
return to God, lie at his feet, take the words 
of Scripture, and say, Thoit hast smitten^ 
and thou loilt hind tis up. (Hos. vi. 1.) In 
a word, I would have ail prepare themselves 



61 



for death; prepare together, and prepare 
apart. 

S. As much as if they were on their 
death-beds ! 

31. Ay, indeed, the very same ; and be 
thankful, humbly thankful, for the time 
allowed for it. Thankful that God hath, in 
mercy, spared them an hour, with a reserve 
of health and strength to turn to him, and 
repent ; for, be assured, when the visitation 
begins, there will be no room for it. All 
will be filled with horror and desolation ; 
every one mourning for himself ; no com- 
posure, no compassion, no affection ; none 
to comfort, none to assist ; nothmg but 
death in all its most dismal shapes, and in 
its most frightful appearances. 

S. Why, madam, if your rule were to 
be observed, there should be an immediate 
cessation of all business, from the king upon 
the throne to the school-boy, and to the 
beggar in the street ; all should fall on 
their knees together, like the people of 
Nineveh. 

M. O that such a sight were to be seen ! 
I am so fully persuaded that the plague, 
w^hich is coming, and which, I say, is now 
begun among us, is a messenger, sent from 
God, to scourge us for our crying sins ; that 
if the voice of this nation were as univer- 
sally sent up to heaven as was that of tlve 



65 



oitizens of Niiieveli, and with the same 
sincerity of humiliation, I firmly believe 
that, as was then the case, God would 
rej)ent him of his fierce anger, that we 
should not perish. 

But you will not see that here, 
madam. 

M. No, child, I fear not ; and therefore 
I am not talking of national humiliations, 
but of family and personal humiliations and 
repentance ; and that, not on expectation 
that God should withdraw the judgment 
from the country wherein we live, but that 
he may withhold his hand, and the hand of 
his destroying angel, from our houses, our 
families, and our persons. 

S. Why, madam, you would put us all 
into confusion ; you would fright and terrify 
us so that we must shut up our shops, 
embargo our ships, close our ports ; the 
custom-house would have no business, the 
exchange no merchants, the merchandize 
no marketo We should be all frighted out 
of our wits. 

M. Ay, ay ; I wish 1 could see people so 
far out of their wits as that comes to ; i 
should then expect that some miracle of 
deliverance would follow, as was the case 
with Nineveh* But it is ^otta be expected 
here. 

No. indeedj madam ; l 68iievenot. 
6^^ 



66 



M. No, no ; there is not a spirit of 
national humiliation among vis ; bat I see 
naiional sins rather come np to such a 
height as they never were at in this nation 
before ; the dregs of the late wars^' are not 
puFjaed out, and will not be purged out but 
by fire ; that is to say, by the fire of God's 
judgment, which is already begun among us. 

S. But they have been as bad formerly- 
madam. 

M. They may have been as bad formerly 

in the revelling days of king , but never 

worse than now; and this even under the 
pretence of greater reformation ! All man- 
ner of wickedness and public debauchery 
being let loose among us, and breaking in 
upon us like a flood, encouraged ev en by 
those who ought to suppress it, and by the 
conduct of those from whom we hoped to 
find examples of good; or, at least, to have 
profaneness and immoralities punished and 
discouraged. 

S. The world was always as wicked, 
I think, as it is now, madam, since I 
remember it. 

M. But we hoped the late turn of affairs 
should have given a blow to the wickedness 
of the times ; but, I think, it has rather 
made them worse. 



^ The Civil Wgirs; 



67 



That lies upon the great men, madam^ 
who should have reformed us, and who 
should have shown better examples to the 
people. And you see they have appointed 
days of humiliation for us. What can they 
do more ? 

31. Well, and God may visit our magis- 
trates, as well as others; but certainly this 
judgment will fall upon the people too ; for, 
though the other are principal, the people 
are guilty; and it is from them that God 
expects a general repentance ; and there- 
fore, national humiliations are the duty of 
the people on these occasions. 

S. I see nothing in these public humi- 
liations but formality, and making a kind of 
holiday of it, a day of idleness and sloth. 

31. As to that, I hope, among serious 
people it is otherwise ; but, in the general, 
what you say is too true ; and therefore, to 
enter no further into a complaint of what 
we cannot mend, one thing we can do ; 
every one may reform for himself, and 
repent for himself ; and this is what I would 
fain see in our families, every one mourning 
apart. Zech. xii. 12 — 14. 

S. But even that is not likely to be seen 
in the manner you would have it. 

31. No, son ; and therefore I am for 
having all, individually, prepare for the 
plague, by preparing for death, as seriously^ 



68 



and with as much application, as if they 
were actually infected, and had the dis- 
temper upon them. 

iS. Preparations for death, madam ! — 
What do you call preparations for death? 
— In the first place, if I am to prepare for 
death, I must make my will. 

3L Dear child, do not make a jest of it. 
I am speaking with a heart full of grief, 
upon an event which, when it comes, will 
perhaps be as terrifying to you as to me. 
s )S. Ay, and more so too, madam : I am 
not jesting with it, I assure you. But I 
would hope it may not come : it may please 
God to prevent it : and therefore I cannot 
think of such a solemn entering upon pre- 
parations for dying, as if it were this 
minute upon me : for then, as I said, I 
must make my will, shut up my counting- 
house, stop all my shipping of goods, pay 
off my servants, and send for the minister. 

3L This I do really call jesting with it, 
son. But, since you will speak of these 
things, I must tell you that every man that 
has any family affairs to settle, ought to do 
it forthwith ; for a time of the plague will 
be no time for making of wills, and settling- 
estates, I assure you, any more than it will 
be for repentance. When ministers will 
not be found to comfort the souls of dying 
penitents, it may be still harder to find 



69 



scriveners to make their wills. When 
husbands are abandoned of their wives, 
and wives of their husbands, fathers of 
their children, and children of their fathers 
and mothers ; when all flee from one another 
for fear of their own Uves, there will be no 
room for settling affairs, as you call it. 

S. Dear madam, it makes one's blood 
run chill in the veins to hear you talk so. 
Come, pray let us talk of something else ; 
this is enough to make one die with the 
fear of it. 

M. O, child, it is much worse to die in 
that condition itself, than to suffer from the 
fear of it. I could tell you such stories of 
the dreadful circumstances of families and 
individuals, in the several periods of such 
judgments as these- — cases which have hap- 
pened in my time, and which I have par- 
ticularly heard — as would indeed make 
your blood run chill in your veins. 

S. O madam, do not tell us such dismal 
stories : you should rather encourage us. 

M* I would say any thing to encourage 
you to go about the preparation I speak 
of ; but I fear that is not the encourage- 
ment you mean. 

Daughter. No, madam, that is not the 
encourageniejnt my brother means. 

M. What then, child ? 

p. My brother thinks you should rather 



70 



encourage us to hope it will not come ; of 
that, if it should come, we may escape it. 

M. What can the end of such encour- 
agement be? 

S. Why, that we should not be always 
poring upon it, but might live as cheerfully 
as wo used to do. 

D. My mother seems to intimate, that 
to encourage us so can have no other effect 
than to encourage us to continue unprepared 
for the event. 

iS. I hope we are all prepared for it. 

X). I can answer but for one : I dare not 
say I am prepared, unless it be to die at 
the very thoughts of it. 

*S. Ay, why that is the very thing I say : 
my mother is enough to fright us all to 
death. 

M. Why, as my daughter said, what can 
I do ? To encourage you, as you call it, is 
to encourage you to put off all preparation. 
Is it possible for me to do thai ? No : but 
I would encourage you to be prepared : that 
would be to destroy all the reason of fear. 

S. Why you see my sister says, madam, 
she is ready to die at the thoughts of it. 

D, O but, brother, do not mistake me: 
it is not at the thoughts of preparing, but at 
the thoughts of my being found unprepared. 

M. There is a great deal of difference in 
that, soue 



71 



There is a difference in the cause of 
the fear; but that frightening of people, 
one way or another, is what I cannot think 
ought to be. 

M. I cannot think that to move people 
to prepare themselves against the worst is 
justly to be called frightening them. 

S. It is alarming us. 

M. Ay, but, son, it is not alarming us 
when we ought not to be alarmed, or 
frightening us without cause. 

S. Well, madam, I will not oppose your 
cautions ; I know you mean well ; but you 
will give us leave to hope that it may not 
be so bad. 

D. Dear brother, I do not find that my 
mother insists on what will, or w^hat wiir 
not be; but, as the danger at least is real, 
she moves us to be ready for the worst. 

S. But my mother says the plague is 
actually begun : I hope it is not. 

D. Well, brother, I hope so too : but 
I am afraid it is ; and from this hour, I 
assure you, if God please to assist me, I 
will prepare for it, as if it was not only 
come and broken out in the city, but come 
upon me, and I was actually infected with it. 

S. And from this time forward I con» 
elude you will have the plague. Your 
frightening yourself so With it is enough 
to bring it on. 



72' 



M. O, that the whole nation were fright- 
ened into the same resolution ! God assist 
you, my dear girl, and cause you to go on 
comfortably in such a work. 

You bring it to a more solemn conclu- 
sion than I intended it, madam. I wish 
every one may prepare for it, but I cannot 
say I would hav e them frightened into their 
preparations ; that was all I meant, and 
the reason is, because such public alarming 
of the people has in it pubhc mischief ; it 
does hurt to the nation in general, injures 
trade^ wounds the poor, sets other nations 
upon their guard against us, as if we were 
already infected, sinks credit, and discou- 
rages the people. 

31. I have nothing to do with your poli- 
tics ; all your reasons of state are of no 
weight here ; it were better that all those 
mischiefs should follow, and the people be 
prevailed upon to begin a general sincere 
repentance, than that all those things should 
be avoided, and the poor stupid people be 
left to sleep on in security, till they sink into 
destruction. 

S. Well, madam, that is true too ; but 
these things may be done prudently, and 
with respect to the public peace ; for all 
such alarms as disturb people's minds with 
the fear of public calamities, tend to con- 
fusion, and to set us all in an uproar. 



73 



31. To put an end to all the frivolous 
pleadings about frightening and alarming 
the people, I say, that to persuade men to 
preparation for death, because such a judg- 
ment is likely to come upon them, is not 
alarming or frightening them at all. A 
serious persuading men to repent and pre- 
pare, is persuading them to put themselves 
into such a posture that they may not be 
frightened, or surprised, or alarmed: for to 
be prepared is to be past being frightened, 
and to be in the only condition that gives 
courage. You may as well say, John the 
Baptist frightened the people, when he 
preached to them, and cried, Repent^ for the 
kingdom of heaveri is at hand. 

S. Then we must come, madam, to in« 
quire what you mean by preparations. 

X>. If I may speak before my mother, I 
wiU tell you, brother, what 1 believe my 
mother means, or, at least, how I under- 
stand it. 

M. I doubt not you both understand it, 
and understand it alike. 

D. I understand by preparations for 
death, repentance and a reformed life.* 

* Here we recognise the defective or erroneous language 
or doctrine of the times in which the work before us was 
written. The Scriptures speak of two things, repentance 
towards God, and faith towards our Lord Jesus Christ" — 
Acts XX. 21 :) but here, in fact, only one thing is spoken 
for what is repentance" without reformation of 

7 



74- 



M. Tfhey arc the general incleedy child : 
tliere may be many particulars in them, but 
I am no preacher; the rest will follow of 
course. Repent and reform : those two will 
contain all you can want or I desire. 

life?" and of what worth is mere outward " reformation 
of Ufe," not springing from an inward principle of ^' repent- 
ance towards God?" Moreover, that part of the religion 
of a sinner which is here omitted, is the great one of all, on 
which every thing else depends — which is therefore even 
allowed to stand alone for the whole, in another chapter of 
the hook of Acts, and in many other places. " Sirs, what 
must I do to be saved? And they said. Believe on the 
Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." (Acts xvi. 
30, 31^) Repentance is necessary, and reformation of life 
is necessary; as necessary as any man can represent them 
to be: but a true and hvely " faith towards our Lord Jesus 
Christ" will efTectuaily secure them; while they will never 
exist in any genuine stale without it. — Omittmg or throwing 
into shade faith in Christ, vv^e thus treat that which is the 
svle medium of our acceptance to the divine favour, and 
the sole channel (so to speak) through which we receive 
that grace and strength without which we can do nothing" 
good: we run infinite risk of leading the sinner to a wron^ 
dependence on his own repentance and amendment : we 
approach too nearly tovv^ards inverting the order of our 
truly evangelical Confession; and reading it, " Have mercy 
upon us, spare us, restore us, seeing that we do note lead a 
sober, righteous, and godly hfer' instead of, Have mercy 
— pardon — restore — and grant that we may hereafter (hence- 
forward) lead such a life, to the glory of thy holy name." 
The Saviour, in fact; is from the first to be held out to every 
sinner who feels any desire or need of salvation, as his " all 
in all;" constituted by the Father the sole Author of all his 
salvation " Him hath God the Father sealed:" He is 
made of God unto us Wisdom, and Righteousness, and 
Sanctification, and Redemption :" through his sacrifice and 
intercession — his " obedience unto death" for us-— and for 
the sake of this only, we are to receive pardon, peace, the 
gift of the Holy Spirit, and every blessing; faiths or humble, 



75 



6'. Nobody can object that we ought not 
tO repent and reform. 

M. Well, child, I only press to the pre- 
sent going about it, because the judgments 
of God are at hand. And you complain 
that this is frigliteoiog people : in which I 
think you are mistaken. 

No, madam, if you mean no otherwise 
than that, I join with you w^ithall my heart. 
Certainly we should be persuaded by all 

earnest dependenee on him alone, is the sole link which 
connects us with him, and brings home to us all his bless- 
ings, without money and without price" — without ail 
regard «ven to our repentance and reformation, considered 
£LS any ground of dependence — as giving us any title to favour: 
''it is of faith that it might be hy grace." (Rom. iv. 16.) 
To this point then is the sinner to be directed from the very 
first : hence ail his hope and comfort are to be derived: and 
from no other source is he to seek them, even to the last. 

I have been anxioiis to make tiiese statements, the very 
first time occasion was given for them, in order to supply a 
defect, or correct an error, in our author's theology. But, 
this being done, it is but justice to say, that w^e shall soon 
find his error or his defect to be by no means so serious as 
from this first opening we might have expected. This will 
appear whefn the present suspicious language is qualified 
and corrected by all the strong expressions which follow, of 
conscious sinfulness and unworthiness ; of the renunciatioa 
of all self-confidence, and dependence on any thing we do ; 
of the necessity of casting ourselves upon infinite mercy 
alone, through the merits of our Lord and Saviour .Tesus 
Christ;" and finally by the explicit notice of " faith in 
Christ" as our only source of hope ; and the citation of those 
veiy texts of Scripture which were addueed near the open- 
ing of this note. With all these passages before us, we 
should not be following a scriptural example were we to 

make a man an offender for a word," to the extent that 
-50 m3 v/ould do. 



76 



just and reasonable arguments to repent- 
ance and reformation : I did not deny that ; 
I only said, I hope the plague may not be 
so near as you fear it is. 

M. Well, son, we will not differ about 
that : if it pleases God to spare us, and to 
spare the land in which we live, I shall be 
one of the first to rejoice and give thanks : 
and though I dare not say I expect it, I 
shall not cease to pray for it ; still carrying 
this along with me in all I have to say of 
it, that to repent and reform our lives, and 
turn with all our hearts to the Lord, which 
is what I mean by preparation, is the only 
way to be unsurprised at it when it comes 
upon us. A mind suitably prepared is a 
mind fortified and made bold to meet the 
worst — prepared to give up itself into the 
hands of a merciful Saviour. A heart pre- 
pared is the heart the Scripture speaks of, 
when it says, He shall not be afraid of evil 
tidings, ichose heart is fixed, trusting in the 
Lord. Psalm cxii.. 7. 

Thus this conference between the mo- 
ther and the son ended for that time. It 
was now about the month of April, 1665, 
and there had died but one of the plague 
since December ; and that was in the be- 
ginning of February: so that the eldest 
brother used frequently to laugh at his 
sister about the long dialogue they had held 



77 



with their luother on the subject of the 
plague comiug upon them, and its being 
actually begun. And once or twice he jested 
with her a little profanely, she thought, 
about her preparations, as she called them, 
for the plague. This grieved the young 
lady, and made her shed tears several 
times ; and once she took the freedom to 
say, ' Dear brother, you jest at my pre- 
parations with too much reason, they being 
but very weak and imperfect : I pray God 
1 may be able to prepare myself better 
against such a dreadful time, if ever it 
should come. But 1 beseech you, brother, 
to take care that your own preparation be 
not a jest in^leed, when such a time comes : 
and, if it should be so, how will you be able 
to stand it ? for certainly nothing but a 
mind v/ell prepared can be able to bear up. 
How shall our hearts endure^ or our hands 
he strong in such a day as that?' 

" It Vv-as in the very anguish of her mind 
that she said this to her brother, and not 
with any passion or displeasure at his ill 
usage of her ; but she did it with such se- 
riousness, such gravity, and so many tears, 
that he was very much affected with it ; 
asked her pardon ; told her he would not 
jest with her any more upon that subject ; 
that he was satisfied she was much better 
prepared than he was, and that she was in 
7^ 



78 



the right; that he would for the future do 
all that lay in his power to encourage her 
preparations ; that though he had not re- 
ceived such impressions himself from his 
mother's discourse as she had, yet he was 
far from thinking her in the wrong ; and 
that, should such a time come as their 
mother had talked of, he could not deny 
that she was much better prepared to stand 
it than he was ; but that his dependence 
was, that God would spare them, and not 
bring such a calamity upon them. 

'•This healed that little wound his loose 
way of talking had made, and his sister was 
pacified. She told him she was glad to find 
him more serious on a subject so weighty; 
that, as to the freedom he took with her, 
that was nothing ; but that it grieved her 
so, that she could not bear it, to hear him 
speak slightingly of the most dreadful judg- 
ments of God that were at that time abroad 
in the earth ; that, as she was entirely of 
her mother's opinion, that it would not be 
long before the plague broke out here, 
however he might censure, and perhaps 
ridicule that thought as melancholy and 
vapourish ; yet, as she was fully possessed 
with a belief of it, it could not but very 
sorely afl^iict her, for his sake, to think how 
light he made of it ; and that her satisfaction 
was now as great, in proportion, to see him 



79 



abate of the levity with which he had talked 
of these things. 

It was not above a fortnight after this 
discourse, that the town had another alarm, 
and her brother was the person that brought 
her home the news of it ; for, about the 
20th of April, the report was spread all 
over the town, that the plague had broken 
out again in St. Giles's parish, and that 
there was a whole family dead of it. 

The young lady was in her chamber 
one morning, when her brother, having been 
out about his affairs, came home in a very 
great concern ; and, coming up to her door, 
said, ' O sister, we are all undone.' ' Un- 
done !' said his sister; ' what is the matter?' 
He could not speak again for a good while ; 
but, as his sister was frighted, and pressed 
him again, repeating the words, ' What is 
the matter?' at last he cried out again, 
' We are all undone, sister ! My mother 
and you were both in the right : the plague 
«5 begun!' He appeared in the greatest 
consternation, and his sister had much to 
do to keep him from swooning. His 
heart, as he said afterwards, was sunk 
w ithin him ; his thoughts all in confusion ; 
and the affairs both of body and soul lay 
heavy upon him. His sister received the 
news he brought without any fright or sur- 
prise ; but, with a calm mind, stood still a 



80 

while, and, as it were musing, to bring 
herself to a settled frame, while her brother 
went on with his exclamations. At length, 
luting up her eyes and hands, she said. It 
IS tae Lord : let him do ivliat seemeth Mm 
good! and immediately she applied herself 
to relieve her brother, and get something 
lor him to take to restore his spirits, com- 
iorting him with her words as well as her 
actions. 

" He was not so overwhelmed but that 
he could perceive the surprising manner in 
which his sister, though so- young, received 
the news, and how free she was from anv 
oppression or sinking of her spirits ; it did 
not discompose her so as to hinder her 
concern for him ; and when he came a little 
to himself, he said aloud, ' O sister, you 
are happy, that took the early counsel of 
our dear mother ! With what a different 
courage does a prepared mind receive the 
impressions of the most dreadful events, 
from one that, being careless and negligent 
in these things, as I have been, entertains 
the first thoughts about them not till they 
are just upon him!' 

' Dear brother,' said she, ' do not talk so 
of me ; my preparations are poor empty 
things ; I have no preparations but these 
few— an imperfect repentance, and a hum- 
ble resolution to cast myself upon infinite 



mercy ; and I hope you have gone beyond 
me in all these, for you have more know- 
ledge, more years, more experience, and 
more faith too, than I have, or else it is but 
very weak.' 

' You are happy, child, let the judgment 
come when it will,' said her brother : ' but 
I have all my work to do. I have had more 
years and more knowledge, you say ; and 
I must add, that I have more work to do, 
more talents to account for, more misspent 
time to answer for ; and I have made no 
preparation for this surprising condition we 
are all likely to be in ; vou know I despised 
it all.' 

" She had, besides this discourse, inquired 
of him how things were, and how he un- 
derstood that, as he said, the plague was 
begun. He gave her an account that there 
had been two men buried in St. Giles's-in- 
the-Fields ; that it was true there were but 
two put into the weekly bill, but that he 
was assured there were two or three houses 
infected, and that five people were dead in 
in one, and seven in another ; and that the 
number of burials in St. Giles'-e parish, 
which used to be about sixteen or eighteen 
at most, was now increased to thirty; which 
indicated strongly that the increase was by 
the plague, though they concealed it, and 
put them in of other distempers. 



This was a terrifying accouiit, and lie 
was exceedingly aftected with it himself, as 
you see. As for the young lady his sister, 
who had long used herself to the thoughts 
of these things, who expected it to be as 
it happened, and who, from her mother's 
discourse, having for some months looked 
upon the distemper as begun, had seriously 
applied herself to the great work of prepa- 
ration for death, and was come to tliat 
happy state of being entirely resigned to the 
disposal of heaven ; this being her case, she 
was far less surprised with it than her 
brother, and stood, as it were, ready to 
submit to the will of God, in whatever way 
it should please him to deal with her. And 
thus she abundantly made good the princi- 
ple her mother had urged, namely, that to 
speak of the plague beforehand as in view, 
and to make preparations for it as a thing 
certain, was so fir from being a needless 
alarm to the people, and frightening and 
terrifying them, that it was the only way to 
preserve them from being frighted and ter- 
rified at it, when it really came upon them ; 
and was -the only way to keep the puWic 
peace, as her brother called it, by keeping 
the people composed and free from the 
confusions and tumultuous hurries which 
they are otherwise apt to fall into on such 
occasions. 



83 



But the scene was not as it were yet 
spread, or the tragedy begun; there was 
another prehide to appear, even in tiie nar- 
row compass of this one family. O may it 
not be the ease of many among us, upon the 
present view of things of the hke kind !~ 
When the first disorders of this occasion 
were a httle abated, and this gentleman 
had come a little more to himself, tilings 
took a new turn v/ith him. He was occu- 
pied in his business during the day, and in 
company in the evenings ; but in the morn- 
ing he had^iways a little conversatioj:: with 
his sister, and she soon observed^ after the 
first two or three days, in which he con- 
tinued much afl^ected with the danger they 
were all in, and with his own unprepared 
condition also, as he owned it to be, that 
he dropped the discourse by little and little, 
till at last he said nothing at all of it to her 
for three or four days. Upon this, one 
morning as they were talking together, she 
broke in upon him with it thus : ' Dear 
brother, you tell me no news now, nor how 
we stand as to this terrible stroke that is 
coming upon us. I cannot but be very 
much concerned to hear what condition we 
are in. Pray, how does it go on ?' 

' God be praised,' said he, ' the distemper 
is stopped again ; they say it was only a 
violent fever that seized one or two families ; 



84 



ahd the people have been in such a fright 
about it by the rashness of some old women, 
who set up a cry of the plague, that it has 
put all the town in an uproar. But it is 
stopped ; and I saw from the weekly bill 
to-day that the number of burials in St. 
Giles's is decreased again, and none of the 
plague or fever more than usual.' 

S. I am glad to hear it, brother ; I wish 
it may hold. 

B. I hope it will, sister. Come, do not 
be like my mother. 

S. I wish I could be like my mother. 

B. Ay ; but do not be like her in this ; do 
not be always foreboding. 

S. Dear brother, I forebode to nobody 
but myself. I do not take upon me to 
teach you, or say any thing but just what 
you ask me. 

jB. Well, but do not forebode to yourself, 
sister ; why, you will bring yourself to mope, 
and be dull upon it, till you come to have 
the vapours, and be half mad. 

S. I hope not, brother. I do not think 
so disconsolately upon it ; I am in the hands 
of God, and it is my mercy that I am so ; I 
only want more strength to bring my faith 
to an entire dependence upon him. 

B. But still you go on upon the old 
story, that the distemper will certainly 
come upon us. 



85 



S. Nay, I cannot but say I expect it 
certainly as if it were just here now ; that 1 
cannot go from, 

B. No, no, I hope not ; come, God may 
be better to us than our fears allow us to 
suggest ; it may go off. 

Then I hope 1 shall be thankful ; 
but . 

B. But, what ? Prithee, girl, do not be 
always prophesying evil, or ringing knells 
over us before we are dead. 

0 dear ! how can you talk so, bro- 
ther ! I prophesy nothing ; I do not pretend 
to it, but the thing foretells itself ; God has 
given us notice of it several times, and as 
good as bid us expect it. Shall I be so 
blind, as not to take the warning? God 
forbid ! Indeed, brother, I cannot help 
believing that it will certainly come still. 

B. Well; and is not this, as I say, pro- 
phesying evil ? 

S. No, brother, it is not ; because I do 
not trouble any body with my talk. I should 
not have said thus much to you, but that 
you extort it. These are notices to myself 
only. 

B. But I would have you to be encour= 
aged, and to encourage us ail ; you are our 
governess, and when you are dull and me- 
lancholy, all the family will be so. 

1 am not dull and melancholv ; but 

8 



86 



sure, brother, this is not a time to be 
thoughtless ; nobody can be so that has any 
common sense. You were alarmed enough 
yourself but a week ago ; and I do not think 
you have lost those just impressions it made 
upon you then, though you are not willing 
they should be seen so plainly as they were 
at that time. 

B. It was all without reason, I verily 
think. I see it was all nothing but the 
fright of old women, and of foolish peoplej 
worse than old women, that raised the 
tumult all over the city. 

S. Well, brother, if it prove so, it will 
be well ; but I am sorry to see you cool so 
fast upon it, before you are sure the danger 
is over. 

B. Child, the danger cannot be said to 
be over, because it never was a real danger. 
As an alarm and fright, it never had a 
foundation, but in the imagination of a few 
foolish people, who have so long talked the 
town into expectation of the plague, that, 
like wild-fire, they take at the first touch, 
and away they run head-long with a story, 
as if they would have it be so ; for fright and 
wishes equally impose upon people, and 
make them believe any thing. When we 
either desire to have a thing, or are terribly 
afraid of it, we believe it at the first word,^ 
at the most distant rumour of it. 



87 



*S'. But you are not sure, brother, that 
you were imposed upon in this. 

B. Yes, very sure, very s.ure. I am 
satisfied it was all a rumour, a mere noise ; 
and there is nothing at all in it but what I 
tell 3^ou. 

»S. You do not know it of your own 
knowledge, brother. 

B, I have not been up thither indeed ; 
but, if you wish it, I will go to the very 
houses, and inquire into all the particulars ; 
though, I think, I am very well informed 
how it is. 

By no means, brother ; I would not 
have you go for a thousand pounds. 

B. I do not think there is any danger in 
it at all ; I would not value going thither a 
farthing ; the people that were sick are 
either in their graves or well again, and all 
is over. 

iS. Well, brother, I can say nothing to 
it ; you know those things better than I, 
However, as you have no occasion to go 
thither, do not talk of that, I entreat you. 

B. There is no occasion indeed ; for I 
am satisfied of the thing, and so is the 
whole city in general. 

S. Well, God fit us for all his will, and 
grant v/e may be prepared to meet him, 
with a due submission to all his providences* 
of what kind soever ! 



88 



B. You are mighty solemn, child, about 
it ; it is strange you cannot be satisfied as 
other people are. Why, your fright might 
be over by this time, one would think ; it is 
almost a fortnight ago. 

S, Dear brother, I hope I should not be 
frighted, if it were already come ; but I 
desire to be seriously looking up to heaven 
for needful couras^e a«:ainst the time ; for I 
am fully persuaded it is not far off. 

jB. Well, I see you will not be beaten 
off from it ; you will be prophetic ; but if it 
is to be so, child, we cannot put it off : to 
what purpose should we anticipate our sor- 
row, and be mourning about it whether it 
comes or not? 

S. O brother, let us remember my mo- 
ther's words ; when it is upon us, it will be 
no time to make our preparations. The 
w^eight will then be too heavy ; the warning 
too short. The plague is not a thing that 
gives warning then, or that gives time for 
repentance : now is the time for preparation. 

B, I hope, my dear, you are thoroughly 
prepared for it : and therefore do not be 
dejected, do not be so melancholy. I tell 
you, child, you must encourage us all. 

S. No, no, brother, I dare not say I am 
prepared, and therefore I have cause to be 
melancholy, as you call it : I have done 
nothing, and can do nothing but fly to the 



89 



arms of mercy. Alas ! my preparations 
are poor mean things: you, brother, are 
better prepared than I, to be sm^e ; or else 
you could not have so much courage. 

''Here her brother stood mute through hi& 
convictions of his own situation — so differ- 
ent from what his sister had described. She, 
in consequence, proceeded : ' It is a good 
thing, brother, to have so much temper in a 
case of this moment : 1 wish I had more 
courage.' He replied: ' Well, w^e will talk 
of that another time :'^ and retired, overcome 
by the reflections which pressed upon him. 

^' Well, said he to himself, this poor child 
has more religion, ay, and more wisdom 
too, than all of us. In short, she is seriously 
preparing for the visitation, if it should 
come ; and while I reproach her with being 
frighted, it is evident that I w^as more 
frighted than she was, when the alarm of 
its having broken out last week at St. 
Giles's ran among us. And should it really 
come upon us, I know not w hat to say : her 
words are very true, it w^ill be no time for 
preparation then. 

" The same day in the evening, being 
in the counting-house with his brother, he 
began to talk with him a little about it. 
' Brother,' said he, ' I cannot help having 
some dull thoughts in my head sometimes, 
about this talk that is so public, that we 
8^ 



90 



are likely to have the plague among us 
this summer, 

2d. B. Some dull thoughts, do you say ? 
I assure you, I am almost distracted about it. 

1st. B. It would put our business all 
into confusion, if it should come. 

2i. B. Into confusion ! nay, it would 
ruin us all. 

1st. B. No, I hope it would not ruin us, 
either. 

2cL B. It would ruin me, I am sure : 
my very heart sinks within me when I 
speak of it. 

1^^. B. What do you mean ? Why, you 
are worse than our governess. 

2d. B. She, poor child ! she is in the 
best case of us all ; she is safe, come or not 
come. I wish I were in her condition, then 
I could have courage enough. 

1st. B. You mean as to the religious 
part, I suppose. Indeed she is a serious 
dear child : I have had a long discourse 
with her about it, and she talks like an 
angel. 

2d. B. She has been preparing for this 
calamity a great while : she is happy. But 
who can say he has done as she has done r 

1^^. B. But, hark ye : you talk as she | 
does in one part, as if you were sure we 
should have it among us : I hope the dan- 
ger is over. ^ 



91 



2d. B. Over ! how can you talk so t I 
wonder you can be so secure. 

1^^. B. Why, what have you heard about 
it to-day ? 

2d. B. Nay, I have heard nothing to- 
day ; but you know hov/ it is as well as I. 

1^^. B. I know there were none in the 
last week's bill of the plague; and I am 
told there will be none in this. 

2d. B. As to the bills, I wonder you 
should lay any stress upon what they say. 
You know well enough they are managed, 
not to put them in openly of the plague. 
Private people get their dead put in of 
other distempers, that their houses may not 
be marked, or ordered to be shut up ; they 
bribe the searchers and parish officers : and 
on the other hand, the public themselves 
are not willing to have the town disquieted. 
It would make a terrible alarm all over the 
world, you know : the ships would every 
where be denied product ; and it would ruin 
trade at home and abroad. But, alas ! that 
is a trifle to what I talk of. 

1^^. B. Why, you talk as if it was not 
over indeed ! Is it really your opinion then 
that it is not over? 

2d. B. My opinion ! ay, and every body's 
opinion too, besides mine. 

1^^. B. Why, by your discourse, it is 
really begun. 



92 



2cL B. Depend upon it, it is more than 
begun, it has spread every way into several 
streets in St. Giles's ; and they Vv ill not be 
able to conceal it long. 

1^^. B. You are enough to put the whol^ 
town in a fright, brother ! Why, you are 
as bad as niy sister, the governess. 

2d. B, Would I were as good as my 
sister! But what do you mean by being 
as bad as she is? She is frightened at it 
then, I suppose, as I am. 

1^^. B. Why, truly I do not know whether 
she is or not ; for, when I came, about a 
fortnight ago, and told her the plague was 
begun, as you know we all heard it was, 
she received the news with so much com- 
posure of mind, as I confess I wondered 
at ; and, after a considerable time of silence, 
answered only that it was the hand of God, 
and He ought to do with us as pleases 
Him. 

2d. B. TJiat was like her, indeed : but 
do not say I am hke her ; I do not pretend 
to it, I assure you : I am all horror and 
confusion at the prospect before us. 

1^^. B. I do not say you are like her in 
that respect ; indeed I do not know it : but 
you are hke her in this, she is for alarming 
every body, as if the plague were actually 
among us, when she knows nothing of it : 
and so are you. 



93 



2d. B. Well, but hark ye, brother, have 
a care of being in a worse extreme ; for 
you seem to be lulling yourself asleep, when^ 
you know the flame is kindled. 

1^^. B. Do I know it is kindled? Do not 
say so : I hope it is not. 

2d. B. You cannot seriously say you hope 
it is not : you may say, as I do, that you 
wish it were not ; but you cannot but know 
it is actually begun; ay, and more than 
begun, it has spread a great way already, 
and in a very few weeks will be all over the 
city. 

1^^. B. You make my blood run chill in 
my veins : what do you mean ? I cannot 
say I know it ; I was really of the opinion 
that it was stopped again, and that the 
danger was over, at least for the present. 

2d.^ B. And so your first apprehensions 
cooled again, I perceive. 

1^^. B. That was too much my case, I 
confess. 

2d. B. And it was mine too, after the 
first appearance of it at Christmas last. I 
have been just like a sick-bed penitent; as 
soon as the fear was over, the penitence 
cooled and abated. But I feel the return 
with a double reproach upon me ; I think 
it will sink me before the distemper 
comes. 

1st. B. Well, but do not be so positive ; 



94 



I hope you are not so sure of the bad news 
as you make yourself.* 

2d. B. Dear brother, why, you and I 
know how these things are abroad. Do 
not you remember how the plague at Mes- 
sina came creeping on just when we left 
the city, and went away again two or three 
times ; but, as soon as the sun advanced, 
and they got into May, it broke out like a 
fire that had been smothered with hot 
ashes; and what havoc it made ? And the 
like at Gallipoli, and on the Calabrian 
coast ? Depend upon it, this distemper is 
only smothered with these northerly winds ; 
but as soon as the winds become westerly, 
and the weather is a little close and warm, 
you will see dreadful work here. I do not 
speak to alarm you, but we should not be 
blind to our own danger. 

" This discourse ended here for the 
present : but the very next day, which was 
the third or fourth of May, the youngest 
brother having been out in the mornings 
and coming into the counting-house, where 
his brother was, wished very much to give 
vent to his thoughts. He accordingly de- 
sired one of their servants, who was there, 
to withdrav/ ; and, shutting the door after 
him, his brother was just going to open the 

^ Still clinging to the foriorn hope, instead of seeking 
better grounded encouragement. 



95 



door again to go out too, but he said, ' Da 
not go out, brother ; I want to speak with 
you.' So his brother sat down, and seeing 
him look a httle disordered, said, ' What 
is the matter, brother ? have you heard any 
bad news ?' 

2cl. B. Ay, ay, bad news enough : we are 
all undone at last. 

1st, B. What is it ? What, do you hear 
any more of the plague ? 

2d. B. Any more of it ! why it is come 
into the city. There is one dead in the 
next street to us almost — in Bearbinder 
Lane. 

1^/. B. What, of the plague itself? 

2d. B. Ay, indeed: my Lord Mayor sent 
two surgeons to examine the body, and 
they have both given it in that he died of 
the plague : he was a Frenchman. I told 
you how it would be. 

1st. B. Well, but this may be some 
straggling, loose fellow, that has come 
down from St. Giles's for fear of it, because 
it was there about a fortnight ago. 

2d. B. Do not let us flatter ourselves 
any longer, brother, or trifle with heaven : 
it has spread at the other end of the town 
into the Strand, and from thence into 
Holborn. You will see, in two or three 
weeks more, Vvhat dreadful liavnc it will 
make. 



96 



1^^. B. What shall we do, brother f 
What will become of us all ? and what will 
become of the business ? 

2d. B. Nay, what will become of our 
souls ? I am undone, if 1 stay here ; I will 
go over to France. 

1^/. B. Alas! it is too late for that, 
brother : before you can get thither all 
their ports will be locked up ; they will not 
let a vessel from England come near them, 
you may be sure. 

2d. B. I am sure it is too late for some- 
thing else ; I have mocked God with that 
part once already. 

1^/. B. You are enough to terrify one to 
death : let us see a little about us, before 
we talk thus. 

2d. B. O brother, you do by the danger 
as I have done by my preparations — put it 
off as long as you can. You talk of seeing 
about us ; why you will see in a very few 
days the plague will be about us, and no 
room to escape from it. I warrant you, if 
you go but as far as the Exchange, you will 
see people preparing to get out of this 
dreadful city as fast as they can, and all 
trade in a kind of stagnation : and it is 
time, indeed, it should be so. 

1^^. B. I do not see that we can go out 
of it, at least not I, unless I give up all 
our business, and leave every thing to be 



ruined, and to be a booty to the nes^t 
comer. 

2d. B. I am sure if I stay here I shall 
look on myself as a dead man. 

1^^. B. I hope not, brother ; all do not 
perish in the worst plague. Though the 
plague were to come, sure it would leave 
some of us behind.* 

^« 2d. B. But I have no reason to expect 
that I should be kept. 

1^/. B. Why not ? I hope you will : do 
not be frighted. 

2d. B. Oh, I have mocked God, I say, 
with my former preparations. When I 
was justly alarmed, I pretended repentance 
and reformation ; but when the fright was 
over, and we flattered ourselves that the 
destroying angel had passed, I cooled and 
abated in my warmth, and became the 
same loose, wicked fellow I was before. I 
have broken all my vows and resolutions, 
and dropped my preparations; and how 
can I go about the same work again now ? 

1st. B. I hope it will not be too late ; 
you talk like a distracted man : why it is 
never too late to call upon God for mercy- 

2d. B. No, but it may be too late to ob- 
tain it. Besides, when the distemper comes 
amongst us, what time, what temper, what 
power to look up ? What capacity to look 
inward ? What calling upon God in thn 
9 



98 



agonies of a plague swelling, or in the dis^ 
traction of a fever ? It is too late, brother ; 
it should have been done before. I am 
almost distracted already with the thoughts 
of it. 

Isf, B. You will distract yourself and 
i^ie too, at this rate : why, what must be 
done ? 

2cl. B. I may well say, Lord be merciful* 

to me ! for I am at my wits' ends, and know 
not what to do. I wish you would let us 
shut up the counting-house, and be gone. 

I^t, B. Begone ! whither shall we go ? 

2d. B. Nay, any where ; I am sure 1 
shall never be able to stand it ; my very 
heart dies within me at the apprehensions 
and fright of it. 

1^/. B. But you must endeavour to rouse 
lip your spirits, and not be cast down. 

2d. B. Oh, brotlier, whose heart can 
endure, or whose hands be strong, in the 
day that God shall deal with him r God 
is now taking us all into his own hands : 
we shall no more be able to trifle w^ith him; 
repenting, and going back, and repenting 
again, and going back again. Oh, it is 
dreadful work to make a jest of our re- 
pentance, as I have done! 

1^^. B. I beseech you, brother, compose 
yourself: you will die with the fright indeed, 
at this rate. Come, I will go out and ^*ee 



99 



what I can learn of it, and what measures 
are to be taken. 

" Thus this discourse ended also, and 
the elder brother went out into the city, and 
he found it to be ail true, as his brother had 
said ; that the plague had now spread into 
several parishes at the other end of the 
town, a,nd that there were, in particular, in 
the old place, five or six families infected, 
that is, at St. Giles's, near Long Acre, and 
about the north end of Drury Lane. Also 
it had spread down Drury Lane into St. 
Clement's parish, and the other w^ay into 
St. Andrew's, Holborn ; so that it ap- 
parently went forward towards the city : 
and the next weekly bill had nine persons 
put in of the plague, besides those that 
were concealed. 

The elder brother came home in the 
evening, and, as he found all that his 
brother had said was true, he was very 
anxious about it, though he did not dis- 
cover it so much as his brother. In short, 
the w^hole house was very melancholy. It 
is true, the younger brother's melancholy 
was different from the rest, being attended 
with a sadness of a peculiar kind ; I mean 
the great concern he was under for hig 
future state. He had several conversa- 
tions with his elder brother, which chiefly 
turned upon the measures that they were 



100 



to take to preserve thems^elves, and to put 
their business in a posture to receive as 
little damage as possible, by so general an 
interruption as it was likely to meet with : 
but he did not receive any manner of 
satisfaction or comfort from him, in t,he 
particular thing that afflicted him; and, 
continuing very disconsolate, his pious sis- 
ter, who was greatly concerned for him, 
one day, about ten days after the first con- 
versation with his brother, came into his 
chamber, where he was sitting very pensive 
and heavy, and began to comfort him. 

Dear brother, she said, I am very 
sorry to see you in this melancholy, dis- 
couraged condition : what can I do for you ? 
It is a sad time with us all. 

B. Poor child, he answered, thou canst 
do nothing for me, but pray for me : do 
that, child, however. 

S. I pray for you, brother ! That I do 
always ; but what am /, that you should ask 
me to pray for you ? Shall I send for some 
good minister to pray with you and for you, 
and to comfort you ? that may be of some 
use to you. 

B. No, no : come sit down here, thou 
art a good comforter enough to me. Tell 
me, my dear, what upholds your mind in 
this dismal time ; for you have the most 



101 



courage, and the most composure of mind, 
they say, of the whole family. 

iS. No, no, you are quite wrong ; my 
brother outdoes us all: he is like one above 
it all, that lives unslmken with any appre- 
hensions vvhatever : he has a strong faith. 
O that I had a heart so prepared, so 
steady, so unconcerned as he has ! 

B, Sister, sister, you mistake the point : 
my brother puts the evil day far from him ; 
buoys himself up with hopes that the judg« 
ment will pass over ; and that it is not so 
near or so certain as we have all reason to 
see it is ; and he flatters himself Vvith this, 
or with escaping it if it comes : I tell you 
he has no more courage than other people ; 

but I think he is stupid He knows 

nothing of that happy condition you speak 
of, nor I neither : you are in a better state 
than any of us. 

S. Dear brother, do not say so of me: 
you grieve me extremely. I that am the 
worst creature alive, what state can I be 
in ? I hope, too, you are wrong in the case 
of my brother and yourself. 

B. This is not a time, sister, to flatter 
or compliment: the judgments of God are 
coming upon us : what must be done ? 
What is our work? What is our duty? 

S. We talk of preparations, and some 
preach up early preparations : I know 
9* 



102 



nothing we can do, but learn to die at the 
feet of Christ, as miserable penitents : this 
is all I can come to.* 

B. Oh, sister, if I cotild do that, I should 
think myself safe. 

iS. He will accept all that come unto 
God by him. 

B. But I should have come before : to 
talk of it now is nothing ; we cannot now be 
said to come^ we are driven. 

S* That is true ; but so his goodness is 
pleased to act with iis, that he will accept 
those who are persuaded by the terrors of 
the Lord, as well as those who are drawn 
by his love. 

B. There is no sincerity in coming now. 

iS. I hope there is, brother. 

B. It is hard v/ork to repent under dis- 
tress ; and it is hard to be satisfied of our 
own sincerity under such circumstances* 
How shall I prepare now, that have not 
gone about it till the judgments of God are 
upon us ; and I am driven to it, as it were, 
in the terrors of death ? 

S. Do not discourage me, brother, while 
you discourage yourself. The judgment 
of God is begun, and we are to prepare for 
it ; that is to say, to be ready to meet him 

* Here the reader will find the more favourable construc- 
tion justified, which was put on the defective or obiectian- 
able language of p. 73, 74, 75. 



103 



with our souls prostrate at his feet. We 
are to say, It is the Lord^ let him do with us 
ivhat seemeth him good. And this is a work 
proper to go about, even now : I am sure I 
must go about it now as well as you. I 
entreat you do not discourage me ; I want 
all the helps to it possible. 

B. I do not discourage yoii^ sister : you 
have been beforehand with the work ; you 
have led a life of preparation a great while ; 
/have lost all the time past, and that dou- 
bles the work for the time to come. 

S. I have done nothing, and can do no- 
thing ; neither can any one of us do any 
thing, but submit, and be resigned, 

B. We must submit, and be resigned as 
to God's disposing of us ; but I speak of 
another work, sister, that lies hard and 
heavy upon my spirits. I have a long mis- 
spent hfe to look back upon; I have an 
ocean of crimes to launch through, a weight 
that sinks the soul, and, without God's 
infinite mercy, will sink it for ever. What 
is resigning to God's disposal to this ? No 
man can resign to be eternally lost ; no 
man can say he submits to be rejected of 
God. I could cheerfully submit to what- 
ever it pleases God to do with me here, 
whether to die or to live ; but I must be 
pardoned, sin must be done away, or I am 



104 



lost and undone ; it cannot be said I can 
resign that point.* 

jS. No, brother, I did not mean so ; we 
must i^sign our bodies, but we are allowed 
to be humbly importunate for the pardon 
of our sins, the sanctifying of our hearts, 
and the saving of our souls ; and then we 
shall do the other with cheerfulness and 
satisfaction. 

B. Well, sister, now you come to my 
case. This pardon is not to be obtained but 
upon a sincere repentance, and a firm faith 
in Christ ; and this is the work, 1 say, I have 
still to do, and that you have not neglected, 
as I have done.t 

^ Well indeed is it when the solemn sense of eternity, of 
the worth of the soul, of the evil of sin, and of danger by 
sin, thus presses on the mind. It proceeds from the Spirit 
of God, amid whatever remaining darkness it may exist ; 
and it may be expected, therefore, to have a happy issue. 
O how widely does it differ from the natural insensibility to 
such subjects which commonly prevails ! 

t All this is " a work," and a most serious and important 
work, calling for the greatest pains and diligence. Faith 
itself is a ^' work," or an act and operation of the mind — 
(John vi. 27 — 29 ;) though it is not as a icork of ours that it 
savas us, but simply as connecting us with Christ, giving 
us an interest in him, by whose merits and grace alone we 
are saved. Nor are we left to perform these important 
works by our own power; much less, when we do perform 
them, are we to bring them as an offering to God, to procure 
us the further blessings which we need. No ; they are his 
gifts to us, his works in us, though we have duties to 
perform respecting them. " \ new heart will I give you 

I will take away the heart of stone, and give you the 
heart of flesh/' Repentance is his gift ; Faith is his gift; 



105 



Oh, brother ! I have done little ; I 
have it every day to do, as well as you ; 
and it is a work that must be renewed every 
day; I desire to be every day applying to it 
with all my power, and I hope you do so 
too ; for we make fresh work for repentance 
every day.* 

B. It is a dreadful work to have to do at 
such a time as this. 

S. But, brother, though the having de- 
ferred our repentance to the last gasp be 
a discouraging thing; and that, as you say, 
a sick-bed, or the time of visitation, is not 
a time for it ; yet, blessed be God, it is not 
forbidden then ; these sad circumstances do 
not make our repentance unlawful ; they 
only unfit us for it. Neither does repenting 
at last make our repentance insincere, (as 
you seem to imply,) though it may indeed 
render it suspected to ourselves. 

B, It takes away all the comfort of 
repentance ; that I am sure of ; and much 
of the hope of it too. 

though we are to exercise both one and the other; and 
though the exercise of them leads the way, and is requisite, 
to the attainment of other gifts consequent upon these. 
Ezek. xxxvi. 25, 26, &c.; Acts v. 31; Eph. ii. 8, <fec. 

* This is all true ; but let it still be borne constantly iia 
mind, that the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth" — daily, 
hourly, cleanseth — '^from all sin," all them who thus come 
to God by him that, though there is much remaining, 
but not indulged, sinfulness, yet there is no condemnation 
to them that are in Christ Jesu5, who walk not after the 
flesh, but after the Spirit." 1 John i. 7; Rom. viii. J, 



106 



S. But, not to go about it at all, is slili 
worse, brother. 

B. I know not what to go about, or when 
to go about it. 

S. I hope you know, brother, both what 
to do, and when. 

B. The time is lapsed; death is at the 
door ; what can be done now ? Ir is not 
what our particular frame or temper may 
be just now, but what the main course and 
tenor of life have been ; we are to he judged 
according to our tcorks.^ 

S. It is true ; the evil, I judge, is at 
hand, though I know nothing how it is. 

* Here again is another important truth introduced^ 
which is often misapprehended and misapplied. All shall, 
at last, be '^judged according to their works." The im- 
penitent sinner shall be judged and condemned both 
according to, and /or, his works, of which his ^' not believing 
in the name of the only-begotten Son of God" is the crime 
that consummates his guilt, and seals his condemnation. 
(John iii. 18.) The behever in Christ, though neither at 
first, nor at last, justified /or his works, shall yet be judged 
according to them ; that is, ' the course and tenor of his life,' 
froi7i the time of his trtdy believing in Christ, will be the 
evidence and proof that his was a living faith, and not a 
mere profession; and that, consequently, he was ''in 
Christ," and justified through him. And, this being the 
case, all the sins of his previous life, as well as all the evils 
and imperfections which he had to lament to the end of his 
days, '' shall not be mentioned unto him;" they are '* cast 
into the depths of the sea ;" they shall " no more be found.". 
Rom. ii. 5—11. 2 Cor. v. 10- Rev. xx. 13. John v. 23, 
29. Matt. XXV. 31—48. Rom. iii. 24 ; v. 1, 2, 9 ; viii. 1. 
1 John i. 7 ; ii. 1, 2. Jer. 1 20. Ezek. xviii. 22 ; xxxiii. 16. 
Micah vii. 19. 



107 



My brother told me the plague had ceased 
again, and all was over. But 1 lay no stress 
upon that ; I desire to be always as I should 
be, if it were upon me in particular. 

B. Indeed it is far from being over ; it 
is increasing every day. It has got into 
three or four parishes at the other end 
of tjie town, and it spreads this way 
apache. 

Well, brother, it is a loud call upon 
us to improve the few days we have left. 

B. I resolve not to lose a moment, but to 
apply the time that remains as much as 
possible. But, alas! what can I do? Is 
it not all a mere force, a fright ? If the 
sickness should go off, I shall be just the 
same again. 

S. You pass sentence upon yourself too 
rashly, brother. You are no more sure you 
shall do so, than you are sure you shall go 
to heaven. 

B. I have a sad rule to judge by. I 
have done so once already, when we had 
the same apprehensions five months ago ; 
and what less can I infer ? I shall be just 
the same man again ; for this is all the 
same thing. It is being driven into a har- 
bour by a storm : as soon as the storm is 
over, the ship puts to sea again, and goes 
on the same voyage she was going before, 
and steers the same course she steered 



108 

before ; and so shall !• I am only driven 
tx) my knees by the storm.* 

S. I hope not, brother. You know the 
story of the Prodigal: he was driven by 
evident misery and starving — as bad a 
storm as any man can be driven by. He 
tells you, I perish for hunger : he never 
thought of returning to his father, till he 
was ready to perish : that is, just at the 
gate of destruction. 

B. That is but a parable, sister. 

S. But remember, brother, what the 
moral of it was ; what the design of the 
story; and, above all, who told it. 

J5. That is true; but what is that moral 
to my case? 

S. Why, brother, he that told that story 
with his own mouth, is the same Father 
who is to accept of us prodigals ; and, I 
think, he clearly tells us there, that he wilt 
receive us, however late, and by whatever 
necessity or distress we are driven, if we 

^ We have here principally portrayed to us the addi- 
tional anxiety which, in such circumstances, the mind 
treasures up to itself, that has not only put off repentance, 
but turned back again to a life of negligence and sin, after 
having seemed to repent and turn to God. Let it be a 
warning to all against such a course; and let us remember, 
that the only preservative from it is calling upon God, 
without ceasing, that he would " create in us a clean 
T^eart, and renew a right spirit w^ithin us." (Psalm li. 
9, 10.) Nothing short of this thorough change will 
permaneut. 



109 



truly turn to him. What else did he tell 
lis that story for ? 

B. This is a comforting application of it 
indeed ; and I think it will hold. 

S. I hope it is a true application of it, 
brother. I am glad it seems to be season- 
able to your case. 

J?. It is so seasonable to me, that nothing 
can be more so. Dear sister, you are a 
heahng preacher to me : that very case is 
my case : and, as you say, our blessed Lord 
gives a plain call in it to every distressed 
prodigal, to come back when he is ready to 
perish. 

S. I am no preacher, brother ; I am but 
a girl, a child in these things ; but the story 
of the Prodigal came into my mind just 
then : I hope you are no prodigal. 

JS. Yes, yes, I am a prodigal ; I have 
wasted the substance that I had given me : 
the time aud talents of health and strength 
that have been spared me; and now I am 
just like him, ready to perish. Death is at 
the door. If this passage came into your 
mind, as you say, without any forethought, 
it was God's goodness that put it into your 
mind : it was spoken for me ; I will observe 
it; I will return to my Father, and say, 
Father^ I have sinned against heaven and 
before the^^ make 7ne as one of thy hired 
servants. 

10 



110 



S. Blessed be God for the encouragement 
j^ou have from it! I desire to make the 
same use of it myself.* — But here is my 
brother : I hear him ring at the door. 

B. Well, then, we shall have some fur- 
ther aecount of things ; dreadful news, I do 
not question. 

S. Well, brother, you have been at the 
Exchange, I hear; what news have you:? 
How do things go on ? 

1^^. B. Truly I know not what to say ; 
it is bad enough : but it is not worse than 
it WRS ; at least they tell us so. I have the 
account that will be in to-morrow's weekly 
bill ; it was brought to my Lord Mayor, as 
it seems was ordered, every week before it 
was printed. 

2d. B, What ! that is, I suppose, that 
the number may not be made too large in 
the article of the plague. They may do 
what they will, but the people will know 
these things; and, if they see any tricks 

* We have arrived now at a beautiful and affecting part 
of the narrative. We begin to see the sight over which 

there is joy in the presence of the angels of God" — the 
sinner coming to repentance. Here are the beginnings, 
the happy beginnings, of both repentance and faith. Blessed 
is the case when the word of God thus comes home to the 
mind with power," and when well-known passages im- 
press it in a new manner, and in their application to itself. 
We must then say, This is the finger of God! It is from, 
the Holy Ghost! 1 Thess, i. 5; ii. 13. 



Ill 



tssed with them, they will think the worse 
of it. 

IsL B. How can you suggest such a 
thing, brother ? There is no room for it ; 
the number is known, and every body is 
allowed to see it. 

S, And, pray how many is it, brother ? 

1st. B. Why, the whole number is but 
seventeen ; and there were fourteen last 
week: so that the increase is but three, 
which is no great matter ; and it is all at 
that end of the town. 

2d. B. Mark, now, how partial my bro- 
ther is in bis relation ; he says there are 
but seventeen of the plague ; but pray how 
liaany are there of the spotted fever? 

1st. B. Truly, there are a good number 
of that distemper ; I think twenty-three. 

2d. B. That is part of the cheat 1 told 
you of ; people conceal the distemper as 
much as they can, that their- cuBteiners 
may not shun their shops ; ^nd so they put 
them in of the spotted feveit*, or any thing 
they can get the searx^hers to return, when 
the deaths are really of the plague. 

1st. B. I can say nothing to that ; I 
take things always for true when authority 
publishes them. 

2d. B. I am for being imposed upon by 
iiobody ; especially in a case that so nearly 
touches my life a^ this does. 



112 



1st B. I think there is not much in it either 
way : it is plain the plague is begun, and 
spreads apace ; and it is not much to the 
purpose how many it increases this week or 
next ; the case will be decided in three or 
four weeks more, bevond all cavil. 

2d, jB» Nay, as it is, we see it spreads 
apace thi^ way. 

1st. B. But it is not yet come into the 
city, except that one man who died in Bear- 
binder Lane a month ago. 

S. Another month or two, brother, will 
show us quite a different face of things ; 
and instead of seventeen or twenty, you 
will see a thousand a week, perhaps more. 

1^^. B. God forbid! Sister, I beseec 
you do not prophesy evil tidings. 

2d. B. Brother, I beseech you, do not 
flatter yourself; will you never be alarmed? 
Ikryou consider the numbers of people that 
there are in such a city as this ? My sister 
talks of a thousand a week ; if it comes to 
be a thorough infection there may be five 
times so many die in a week, and the whole 
town be a mere pesthouse and a desolation. 

iS. My brother sees us discouraged, and 
it is only that he is not willing to have us 
too much frighted; but a few weeks will 
put us all out of doubt. 

1^^. jB. I do not either alarm you, or 
endeavour to make you secure ; but I see 



113 



you are both resolved to have it be thought 
worse than it is, and I am for having it 
called nothing but lohat it is. So many 
have died of it last week ; and as many 
more have died of several jiarticular dis- 
tempers ; it is time enough to be frighted 
and hurried, when we see it come upon 
us; I am not for making things worse than 
they are. 

2d. B. Well, brother, that is a good way 
<of talking enough, to them that ai'e readj^ 
and prepared for the worst, as my sister 
saj^s you are ; and I am glad to hear that 
you are. But the more unhappy it is for 
me ; for my work is yet to do. I have dif- 
ferent reasons for being more alarmed than 
you, for I am utterly unprepared for it, 
God knows ! 

Ay, and I too. 

1^^. B. You are enough to terrify any 
one to death, both of you ; if you are un- 
prepared, you must go and prepare then, 
if you think fit ; for my part, I cannot bear 
to hear you talk thus. \_He goes out. 

S. Brother, let us take the hint, and set 
about the work, 

B. O sister, is it in any oner's power to 
prepare himself for such a terrible time as 
this ? Hovv is it to be done ? And what 
can we do ? 

10* 



114 



S* The preparation of the heart, is of ike 
Lord. Prov. xvi. 1. 

B. We talk of preparations as if there 
was a stated settled form of preparing for 
the plague, which, being performed, we 
were ready for it whenever it came ; for 
my part, I know no preparation for the 
plague but a preparation for death ; he 
that is ready to die, is ready to have the 
plague. 

S. I understand it so exactly. 

B. Why then, dear sister, you are en- 
tirely of my mind. Will you then join with 
me, and let us set upon the great work, as 
w^ell together as apart. Let us lay our 
account for death ; that is, settle it with 
- ourselves that we shall die of this visitation ; 
and endeavour to bring our souls to such a 
frame, as that we may with cheerfulness 
throw ourselves into the arms of divine 
mercy, through the merit of Jesus Christ, 
whenever he shall summon us ; be it by 
this dreadful visitation, or by what otheV 
providence he thinks fit. 

*S. I a m very little able to forward you 
in such a work ; but I will join in any thing 
that I am able, as well with respect to my 
own part, as to any thing else we can do 
together. 

jB. But what do you look upon to be the 
first work? 



115 



S. The first thing I can think of is a full 
resolution, a firm purpose of heart, to for- 
sake all our sins, and to return heartily to 
God, whom we have offended. 

B. By returning to God, I suppose you 
understand repenting sincerely for all our 
past sins, mourning unfeignedly over them, 
and caUing upon God for pardon and for- 
giveness. 

S. I do so ; and there is great encou- 
ragement for us to do this, in the Scrip- 
tures. Come, and let us return unto tJie 
Lord: for he hath torn, and he will heal us; 
he hath smitten, and he will hind us up. — Let 
the wicked forsake his ivay, and the unrighte- 
Oils man his thoughts: and let him return 
unto the Lord, and he ivill have mercy upon 
him ; and to our God, for he ivill abundantly 
pardon.^ 

B. This is true; but how shall we do 
this ? And who can effectually return to 
God ? It is a hard work. 

S. We must look up to him for assist- 
ance, even in this very work. Turn thou 
us, O Lord, unto thee, and ive shall be turned : 
renew our days as of old. — I have surely heard 
Ephraim bemoaimig himself thus, Thou hast 
chastised me, and I was chastised, as a bullock 
unaccustomed to the yoke : turn thou me, and 



*Hos. vll. Isa,lv.7. 



116 



I ^hall he turned ; for thou art the Lord my 
God. — Repent^ and turn yourselves from all 
your transgressions ; so iniquity shall not he 
your ruin. Cast away from you all your 
transgressions^ whereby yehave transgressed; 
and make you a new heart and a new spirit : 
for ivhy idll ye die, O house of Israel ? * 

B. There is another text which touches 
my very soul every time I read it ; methiiiks 
it speaks to me ; it is the very sort of turn- 
ing that I think I want; and it seems to be 
even a direction to me how to turn, and 
tvhat turning to God means in his own 
sense of it ; how he is pleased to understand 
it, or what it is he will accept as a sincere 
turning to him. It is in Joel ii. 12, 13 — 
Therefore also noic, saith the Lord^ turn ye 
even to me with all your hearty and with fast- 
ing, and ivith weeping, and vn th mourning : 
and rend your heart and not your garments, 
and turn unto the Lord your God: for he is 
gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of 
great kindness, and repenteth him of the evil. 

S. That is an extraordinary place in- 
deed; I had omitted it, but I remember it 
very w ell, and the words of the verse before 
it seem to make the reason for that parti- 
cular call, of turning to God, to be much the 
^ame with what is before us. 



* Lam. V, 21. Jer. xxxi. 18. Ezek, xviiu 30—3*2,, 



117 



B. I did not look at that part ; the call 
was loud to me ; and I see reason enough 
before me ] it affected me indeed exceed- 

iS. But the words immediately before will 
add to it still ; pray look here. 

B. They are solemn indeed : ver. 11 — = 
For the day of the Lord is great and very 
terrible, ivho can abide it ^ Ay, who can 
abide it ? — Who, indeed, can abide it ? It 
is our case just now; the judgment that is 
now coming upon us may well be said to be 
the day of the Lord ; and it is very terrible 
indeed, none can be able to abide it. 

S. The next words are ushered in with 
this as a reason for them, Therefore 
turn unto the Lord with all your heart ; with 
fasting, icith iveeping, and ivith mourning. 

B. Dear sister, this is indeed our direc- 
tion; let us obey the voice of our rule. 
This is a scripture rule, and we cannot be 
wrong in it. 

S. Nay, they are the words of God 
himself; that is to say, the prophet speaks 
them as immediately from God, and in his 
very name. Therefore also note, saith i he 
Lord : and the next words are as if God 
spoke immediately. Turn ye even to me. 

B, This is a call to ug^ — to me, sister, in 
particular; and I have great reason thus to 
turn, and to do it in the particular manner 



118 



(iirected — with fastings with weepings and 
tvith mourning. 

S, It is a call to me, as well as to you, 
brother ; and I have as much reason to 
think it is directed particularly to me, as 
you can have, and more too, much more.* 

B. Dear sister, let us dispute that no 
longer ; will you join with me in this work? 
Shall we repent together, and humble our 
souis together ? 

S* Ay, brother, with all my heart ; I will 
be thankful to you for so much help in such 
a work. 

B. We have opportunity now to help and 
assist one another. God alone knows how 
long we may be continued together ; how 
long it may be before we may be snatched 
from one another, or both snatched away 
as it were together. 

S. I rejoice at the motion, brother. I 
have had no helps before ; I have been 
alone in all things of this nature. I bless 
God for the ©ifer, and will join you in every 
thing that you desire of me, and, above all, 
in receiving help, and counsel, and assist- 
ance from you.t 

^ Such will ever be the feelings of true penitence. 1 Tim. 
i. l5. Phil. ii. 3. 

i And who shall say that the mutual concurrence of near 
relatives and dear friends — their combined effort to help one 
another in the greatest and best of all undertakings — is not 
reasonable, commendable, delightful, and a thing to be 
imitated ? 



119 



Here we can follow this happy couple 
no further at present, in their particular 
conversation : but it is to be recorded for 
the example and encouragement of others, 
in a like case, that they agreed to spend 
tw^o hours every evening and an hour every 
morning in her closet, where they prayed 
together, read the Scriptures together, and 
discoursed together, as their particular cir- 
cumstances made it seasonablcr In these 
retirements the brother prayed, and made 
a daily confession of sin 5 the sister read the 
Scriptures ; and in their discourses they 
were mutual. Beside this, they locked 
themselves up every Tuesday and Friday, 
and kept the whole day as a solemn fast, 
neither eating nor drinking till about four 
o'clock in the afternoon. And on these 
occasions it might be truly said of them 
both, that they humbled themselves greatly 
before the Lord their God; and, as the 
Scripture above mentioned directed, they 
did it idth fastingy %vith weepings and icith 
mournino:. 

The young man in particular was a 
pattern for penitents ; and in an especial 
manner he was afflicted, and continually 
reproached himself for having put off' his 
preparation and repentance formerly, till 
the very judgment was at the door ^ and for 
having been once before touched with a like 



120 



sense of his danger, but growing cold and 
unconcerned again, as the danger abated 
and went off. This robbed him much of 
the comfort of his present application ; and 
he continually upbraided himself with it, as 
if it had been a test of his future insin- 
cerity : and it was very discouraging to him. 
He would also frequently observe on that 
head, how much all persons should guard 
against falling back from their own profes- 
sions ; how sad a token of hypocrisy it was 
to do so; and how hard it would be for 
those who had done so, if ever they came 
to be true penitents, to believe themselves 
_ such, or to receive the comfort of their own 
humiliations.* 

" In this distress of his mind he received 
great assistance from the comforting dis- 
courses and excellent example of his pious 
sister, who was now the companion of his 
best hours, and his support in his greatest 
discouragements. SJie had given the first 
life to his resolutions, by hinting to him 
that our blessed Saviour himself was the 
author of that parable of the Prodigal; and 
that, as it was said introductory to the 

* This expression again may be thought by some excep- 
tionable ; but obviously it is not meant that our humilia- 
tions" are to be the basis of our acceptance or cur confidence, 
but only the pi'oofs that w e are brought to tliat state of 
mind to which comfort is spoken. Psa, li. 17. Isa. h "' 
15; Ixvi. 9. Matt. v. 3, &c. 



121 



parable of the unjust Judge, that he spake 
a parable to them to this end^ that men ought 
alicays to pray, and not to faint; so it might 
be said of the parable of the Prodigal, that 
he spake a parable to this end, that men 
ought always to return to God their Father 
when they are in distress, and not to de- 
cline for its being late. She had, upon all 
occasions, repeated to him such encouraging 
texts of Scripture as occnred to her, to sup- 
port his resolutions ; and she was daily 
searching the Bible for such texts as might 
be particularly adapted to these purposes. 

It happened that under one of his great- 
est discouragements — most of w^iich began 
at the doubts he had upon his mind of his 
own sincerity, and of his being accepted, 
^ because of his not having applied himself 
to his humihation till it pleased God to 
bring the terror of the plague upon him., 
and till the judgment was, as it were, at 
the door under one of the worst of these 

^ Two grounds of discouragemeBt are here stated: 1. 
Doubts of his own sincerity; and, 2. Distrust arising from 
the lateness of his repentance. The latter must be at once 
rejected, and dispelled by simply believing the abundant 
testimonies of the Gospel, that he w^ho cometh shall in no 
loise be cast out." The former are not without ground 
both from reason and Scripture ; they are not to be pro- 
nounced simply in themselves unbelief; on the contrary, 
they maybe even increased by the belief of many scriptural 
cautions and warnings • but they must be removed by per- 

11 



122 



Ins dejections, his sister thought of another 
example. ' Come, brother,' said she, ' I 
have another Scriptm^e instance for your 
encouragement, where God accepted one 
of the worst wretches that ever Kved, and 
who never returned till he was brought to 
the greatest extremity. A greater instance 
of wickedness never w^as in the world : nor 
did he ever think of returning, that we 
read of, till God struck him, and brought 
him down to the lowest degree of misery : 
and yet, upon his humbling himself, he was 
accepted. Will such an example comfort 
you?' 'I think,' he replied, 'you were 
born to comfort me : who was it ?' ' Here 
it is,' said she ; ' take it as it is recorded, on 
purpose to encourage penitents under the 
worst circumstances. It is the story of 
Manasseh, the most wicked of all the 
kings of God's people, 2 Chron. xxxiii, la 
the beginning of the chapter, to the 7th 
verse, you have an account of his wicked- 
ness, such as the like was never in Jeru- 
salem before him, in doing abominable 
things, profaning God's house and his altar, 
practising witchcraft and sorcery, and deal- 
ing with the devil. Also, ver. 10, it is said. 
The Lord spake to him^ hut he would not 

severance in coming to the Saviour, and in the use of sucli 
prayers as that of the Psalmist — Make my heart sound in \ 
ihj statutes, that I may never be ashamed/' 



i 



123 



hearken; so that he resisted even God him- 
self, and rejected the gracious call of God 
to him to repent. This, brother, was much 
worse than what you call growing cold and 
negligent, and letting your sense of things 
wear off. Well, after this, verse 11 — Where- 
fore the Lord brought upon them the captains 
of the host of the king of Assyria^ ivhich took 
Manasseh among the thorns^ and bound him 
with fetters, and carried him to Babylon* 
This w^as driving him, as you call it, with 
a witness : he was pulled down from a 
throne to a dungeon; from a crown of gold 
and chains of gold, as ornaments, to chains 
of iron, to chain aud bind him, as one kept 
for execution. But now see verse 12, 13 — 
And when he was in affiiction he besought the 
Lord his God^ and humbled himself greatly 
before the Godof his fathers; and prayed unto 
him : and he was entreated of him, and heard 
his supplication, and brought him again to 
Jerusalem, into his own kingdom. Then 
Manasseh knew that the Lord he teas God — 
* NoWy brother,' said she, ' what think you 
of all this ?' Tears of joy ran down his face, 
while she read the w^ords of the two last 
verses ; and, when she asked him at last 
what he thought of it : * Think of it ?' said 
he, ' my dear sister ! my happy comforter ! 
I think 1 will never be discouraged more.' 
And he was in a great degree as good as 



his word ; for he was exceedingly encour- 
aged by it, upon all occasions, and had 
recourse to that example, whenever his re- 
flection upon his late repentance gave him 
any sad thoughts. 

But he leaves it as a seasonable cau- 
tion for us, upon whom the like circum- 
stance of a national visitation seems to be 
coming, that our preparations may not be 
adjourned till the judgment is upon us ; for, 
though it may not be ineffectual, through 
God's mercy, for any one to repent then, 
however late, yet it will rob us of great 
comfort, make the danger a thousand times 
more dreadful, and fill us always with dark 
and discouraging thoughts ; and it will be 
very hard to bear up the mind under them. 
He warns all men by his exam.ple, that, 
when preparations for death have been long 
put off, it is so much the harder to begin 
them at all, and the heart, once hardened 
by frequent delaying and putting it off, is 
not easily softened to the serious work 
again : and, if it shall at last be brought to 
go about it heartily, it will yet go with a 
heavy and afflicted mind ; and those delays 
of repentance will be the most abhorred 
things, even equal to the sins that are to be 
repented of. And nothing is more certain, 
than that, when people put oft" those pre- 
parations to the last, God is often pleased 



125 



to deny tlie gift of repentance in their ex- 
tremity, or at least for a great while ; and 
sometimes to withhold the comfort of it to 
the last gasp. But I proceed with the 
story of the family before me. 

These two happy penitents went on in 
this course for some time. Some short 
discourses which happened between them, 
could they have been entirely preserved, 
might have been very useful to others. The 
following, however, may not be unprofit- 
able- The brother, it being during one of 
their private fasts, began thus : 

B. Sister, we are under the apprehensions 
of a terrible judgment, which is already be- 
gun, and increases dreadfully among us ; 
pray let us state between us, what is our 
work upon that account at this time. 

1 believe I understand you, brother; 
you would have us state what we mean by 
preparations ; for these are the things we 
talk much of, and others, too, when they 
speak any way seriously. Indeed I have 
i)ften asked myself, what I mean by pre- 
parations for the plague ? 

J9. Well, and how did you answer your 
own question ? 

S. Why, I answered it as I heard you 
mention it once to my brother, and I thought 
you had given a very right account of it ; 
namely^ that preparations for the plague 
11^ 



126 



were preparations for death, and that they 
ought to be so understood. 

Well, but the question is much the 
same still, namely, what is it to make pre- 
parations for death ? or what preparations 
are proper to be made for death? 

S. It is a hard question, brother, and 
requires a better head than mine to give 
an answer. 

B. But, sister, that which is worse is, 
that the preparations I mean are to be sup- 
posed to be made by a man that has been 
a hardened, extravagant wretch, guilty of 
great crimes, 

>S. One that has been old in sin, and 
that has put off all the calls to repentance, 
whether proceeding from conscience or from 
nature, from reason or from religion, from 
God or from man. 

B. Ay, just as I have done, sister. 

S. No, no; not as you have done, but as 
you say you have done. 

B. Well, let that rest ; what must such 
a one do ? what must his preparations 
be ? 

S. The first thing, brother, I can think 
of, is included in that scripture, Lam. iii. 
40 — Let us search and try our icays^ and 
turn again unto the Lord. 

B. The description is most apt to the 
purpose ; Search and try our loays : wiiich, 



127 



as I understand it, is self-examination of 
the strictest, closest kind. 

S. Searching; that is, a looking back 
upon our past life, and into every action of 
it; not hiding or dropping this search in 
any particular part that can be brought to 
memory; not covering any part, but search- 
ing ourselves to the bottom. 

B. And then trying the quahty of every 
action, bringing ourselves to the bar of our 
consciences, and there impartially subject- 
ing every action of our lives to the judg- 
ment of reason and conscience; determining, 
with an unbiassed sincerity, whether such 
ways and such actions are justifiable at the 
bar of God or not. 

S. Blessed be God, there is a bar of 
conscience, at which we may arraign our- 
selves, and where, if we try the cause 
impartially, we may make a right judg- 
ment of our actions, and know in what 
posture we stand. 

B. But, O sister, what is my case ? I 
see beforehand what is my case : I cannot 
stand before the judgment-seat of my own 
heart, how then shall I appear at His tri- 
bunal, where all must appear in its true 
light ? 

S. Do not say this is i/our case, as if 
none were in that case but you. I am in 
the same condition : my own heart con- 



128 



tJemns me, and God is greater than your 
hearts. I have nothing to say but this: 
Enter not into judginent icith 7ne^ O Lordj 
for in thy sight shall no man living he jus- 
tified. Psalm cxhii. 2. 

B. If, then, we bring our actions faith* 
fully to the bar of reasou and conscience^ 
we shall then see our state : we shall see 
what our condition is, and what it will be 
at the bar of God's judgment. 

iS. Certainly we may. 

jB. Then I must see, and do see, that at 
that bar I shall be condemned. 

Yes, brother, and I too, and every 
one ; for in his sight shall no man livirig 
justified^ as his own actions, brought to this 
judgment, will appear. But let us go back 
to the text again : Let us search and try our 
ways : what is next ? 

Blessed be God, it follows, and turn 
again to the Lord. This, then, is our work 
at this time. 

S. Dear brother, our work, in short, is 
self-examination and repentance : first ex- 
amination, then humiliation. 

B. It is plain, first search and try our 
ivays^ and then turn from them to the 
Lord. It is taken there as a conclusion, 
that, upon searching and trying our ways, 
we shall find they will not bear a trial, 
either at the bar of God or at the bar of 



129 



X 



conscience. Therefore we arc tu turn 
from them. 

S. That is our next work ; and how is 
that to be done ? 

B, That brino^s us to the other text, 
Joel ii. 12, 13. It must be with all our 
hearts^ tvith fasting, ivith weeping, and with 
mourning. How shall we do this, sister? 

Well, brother, but let us go on, and 
see the fruit of it too. Read the next verse^ 
13 : And rend your heart, and not your gar- 
ments, and turn unto the Lord your God: 
for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, 
and of great kindness, and repenteth him of 
the evil. 

B. Nay, sister, go on with them, verse 
14 — Who hioweth if he imll return and repent^ 
and leave a blessing behind him^ Here is 
encouragement, sister. Let us set about this 
work, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to 
anger, and of great kindness.^ 

Here is one of their discourses, or at 
least a part of it ; and herein may be seen 
something of that true work of preparation 
for the plague. Let none flatter them- 
selves with less than this. They who pre- 

* Let the reader only suspend liis judgment a little, and 
wait the result. Our author is himself sensible of the im- 
perfect state in which the subject is here left. After a short 
time the deficiency will be supplied in a very gratifying 
manner. 



130 



lend to be making preparations for the 
plague, that is to say, for death, any other 
way than by searclmig and tr'ying their 
ways^ and turning to the Lord, with fastings 
tcith tveeping, and loith mourning ; that is to 
say, with sincere humihation and repent- 
ance ; will but mock and deceive them- 
selves, and will find they have mude no 
preparations at all. 

I must leave this pious couple now a 
while, as to their retirements, and take 
them in common, in conversation with their 
brother and the family. The visitation 
came on ; the plague spread dreadfully ; — 
death came like an armed man, and swept 
away the people like an overflowing stream. 
It was now five weeks after the last dis- 
course between the two brothers and the 
sister, and since the two penitents had thus 
retired together, when the younger brother, 
having been out in the city, came in again, 
and found his elder brother conversing with 
his sister. And now his manner of talking 
was quite changjed ; his tale was turned, as 
you shall see. 

\st. B, O brother, why will you venture 
to go out ? 

'M. B. Out! Why, what can be done? 
We must go out for family necessaries. 

1st. B. We have been greatly overseen 



131 



in that, not to have a store of provisions in 
the house, since we are obliged to stay ; 
you know they did quite otherwise at 
Naples. 

2d. B. That is true ; but it is too late 
now. 

1^^. B. It is not too late .for some things, 
however ; we might get a stock of bread 
and beer into the house ; and you see my 
mother sends us every week fresh provi- 
sions from the country, sufficient for our- 
selves, at least. 

2d. B. She does just now, but it will nc^ 
be long. No messenger or servant will dare 
to bring it a little time hence, the plague 
increases so much. The other end of the 
town is a mere desolation with it. It be- 
gins to come round us. I hear it is got 
over into Southwark this week, and six or 
eight have died on that side already. 

1st. B. Well, what shall we resolve to 
do ? Shall we venture to stay, or shall we 
lock up our doors and be gone ? What say 
you, sister ? 

S. I am not fit to give any opinion. I 
see it is likely to be a dreadful time, but 
what you resolve shall determine me ; be- 
cause, as I have undertaken the charge of 
your house, your measures make staying 
my duty or not my duty. So you are not 



132 



to ask my opinion, but to direct me what 
to do. 

1^^. B. Well, but if you were not under 
the obligation you speak of, child, which 
you may be sure we would be far from 
tying you to in such a case as this, what 
would you do then ? 

*S. Why then I should properly belong 
to my mother's family, and I ought to go 
thither, and then to act as she should 
direct. 

2d. B. But, tell us what you think of 
doing now, child. 

S. You may assure yourself I w'lW do 
just as you do. I will live and die with 
you. 

1^/. B. This is all nothing ; what we do 
we must do quickly, there is no time for 
long consultations. If we intend to go 
away, it must be speedily, or nobody will 
receive us. Nay, w e may carry the plague 
with us, and do ourselves more hurt than 
good. 

2d. B. Nay; all the world almost, that 
have any where to go, are gone already. 
But have you thought of any place where 
to go ? 

1^^. B. No, not I. 

*S. Why, brother, have you made no 
provision for the time of distress : 



1^3 



1st. B, No, not I, neither for soul nor 
body ! — Here he sighed and wept ; but pro- 
ceeded : Indeed, sister, you have been in 
the right all along, and my mother too. I 
have put this evil day off, and flattered my- 
self it would never come. I have seen such 
things frequently in Italy, and after the first 
frights the distemper has vanished a^-ain. 
I was indeed alarmed when I came to you 
there in April, but I found there were some 
people, who I thought made worse of it 
than they needed to do ; and I dropped all 
concern about it. Nor have I suffered any 
impressions to be made on me since. 

S. I took it otherwise, brother ; and I 
always thought it was the case that you 
were fortified by your extraordinary expe- 
riences of God's goodness, and your faith 
in him ; and that I knew was a good and 
justifiable foundation on which to be easy 
and settled in your mind. 

1st. B. No, no ; I am quite unprepared ; 
and that with this aggravation, that I have 
neglected and slighted all the warnings o/ 
its approach ; and now it comes on like an 
overflowing flood, so that nothing can stand 
in its way. We shall see the city in a very 
little time a mere general grave for all its 
inhabitants. 

2d. B. Not all, I hope, brother. 

\st, B. Truly, I believe there very 
12 



134 



few remain of tliose that stay here ; they 
tliat fly in time may indeed be preserved. 

2(1. B. Well, brother, we are all to be 
directed by you. What shall we do? 

1^^. B, Do ! I have nothing to say to 
you but this : Do not follow my dreadful 
example, to put off repentance and prepar- 
ation upon a wild presumption of escaping 
the danger; or, indeed, of its being more 
favourable than it is likely to be ; lose not 
an hour, not a moment. I have lost all my 
time, and now, heaven is just ! 1 not only 
have no time for it, but I have no temper 
for it. When the danger is at the door, 
there is no beginning the work ; it is too 
late then. 

2d. B. Compose your mind, brother, and 
look up to heaven for direction ; and, if 
you think of going any where into the coun- 
try for your safety, my sister and I will 
remain here to look to the house, and pre- 
serve things. 

1^/. B. No, brother, I will not go away 
for my own safety ,^ and leave you exposed 
to the danger, 

2d. B. I hope it may please God to pre- 
serve us ; but, if not, we are in the way of 
our duty, and may with the more cheerful- 
ness cast ourselves into his arms. 

l^i^. B, You talk very differently, bro- 
ther, from your discourse a few months 
ago. 



135 



2^/. B. I have had iong experience of 
things since that ; and particularlv have felt 
the right He has to dispose of me and 
all that belongs to me ; it is my part to 
submit, — it is his part to do whatsoever he 
pleases. 

1^^. B. I want such a spirit, brother. 
How did you get it ? 

2d. B. There is the dear instructor that 
has been the healing angel to me. 

S. I entreat you, brother, do not dis- 
courage yourself so ; I have been capable 
of nothing, and have done nothing, neither 
can any of us do any thing. 

1^/. B. Well, brother, you came in since 
I did. What do you hear of the main 
thing ? What condition are we in ? 

2d. B. Worse and worse. The plague 
advances this way still, in a most surprising 
manner. 

1^/. B. Well, what shall we do r 

2d. B. I scarcely know what. 

l^i^. B. In short, there is hardly any 
body left in the city, but in by-places, and 
where people either have had no time to 
go, as has been our case, or have resolved 
to stay. 

2d. B> Let us see a little further, bro« 
ther. There are but very few dead in the 
city yet ; I think not above fifty or sixty 
in all. 



13G 



" This discourse being ended, t 
brother and sister bei^an to consider that it 
would be their lot to stay in the city : but, 
being very anxious for their elder brother, 
they resolved to persuade him to go away, 
chiefly with respect to the confusion they 
found he was in about his eternal state. 
In the mean time, as they kept up their 
daily conferences and theu* fasts as before, 
they were every day more and more en- 
couraged and comforted, being fully given 
tip to the disposing will of heaven, let it be 
which wa^y it would, whether for life or 
death. 

But, to bring them to this gradually, 
we must go back to another of their dis- 
courses on this subject in one of their 
retirements. The brother began the con- 
ference upon the subject of the last discourse 
thus : — 

Ij. Dear sister, I thought we brought our 
last discourse to a very happy point ; namely, 
that, after self-examination, searching and 
trying our imys^ we should turn to the Lord. 
I have had some difficulties with myself 
upon this work of turning to God. We 
resolved at our last meeting into repent- 
ance ; and I think that is plain in the text 
we were upon; turn wiili fastings andweej}- 
ing, and mourning. This I take to be 
repentance : but is there nothing to do 



137 



beside ? Alas:! v/e may weep and mourn, 
but, as that can make no compensation for 
our sin, we must look further. 

S. It is very true there is more to be 
done; but this scripture is plain even in 
that, for the vv^ords, Turn to the Lo7*d, imply, 
in my judgment, flying to him for pardon. 
It is true, that the manner of applying to 
God for pardon of our sins is not expressed 
in the prophecy of Joel ; because they were 
then under the Old Testament dispensa- 
tion. 

B» That is what my thoughts resolved 
it into. But now, sister, I bring it to the 
New Testament ; and I was directed, I 
hope, to that scripture. Acts xvi. 30, where 
the gaoler says, Sirs, wliat mmt I do to be 
saved ? The very words were upon my mind 
before the particular scripture occurred to 
my thoughts, What must I do to be saved7 
and the answer is.direct, ver. 31 : And they 
saidi Believe on the Lord Jesus Christy and 
thou shall be saved, a/ad thy house. 

S. It is most certain, brother, that to our 
repentance, which we have been called to 
by the text which w^e discoursed of last, 
must be joined the Gospel direction of be- 
lieving on the Lord Jesus Christ : and that 
is the next point for us to examine ourselves 
about. 

It is plain, sister, from another text, 
12^ 



138 



Acts XX, 21 — Repentance t($i:ards God, and 
faith toicards our Lord Jesus Christ. 

S. Dear brother, if we have but these, 
our preparations are complete. 

B. Then we may say. Come, Lord Jesus, 
com quickly! 

S. The next question then is, to be as- 
sured on these two points. 

J5. Dear sister, I have nothing for it but 
the example of the man in the Gospel: 
Mark ix. 24 — Lord, I believe, help thou my 
mibelief! and this is the full exercise of my 
soul ; this it is to which I desire to dedicate 
the whole remainder of my time, be it little 
or much, to obtain a settled dependence 
upon the merits and purchase of Christ, the 
blessed Saviour of the world. 

*S. There is no other comfortable hope, 
no other rock, no anchor for the soul, but 
this : He is the hope of his people, and their 
Saviour in the time of trouhle. This is a 
time of trouble: let us* not be anxious, 
whether we are spared or not in this time 
of trouble ; that faith, which has carried 
others through the fire and through the 
water, will carry us through the fire of a 
disease. What is it to die by this infectious 
fever, or, being spared a few years more, 
to be carried away by another, or by any 
grievous distemper? 

j5. The diflference is nothing, if it be noi 



139 



in things bej^nd the grave ; for the difter- 
ence of the time here is so Uttle, that it is 
not worth naming. At least, when we come 
into that state we shall esteem it nothing. 

S. Let us then neither wish nor fear in 
the present desolation, but be entirely re- 
signed, giving up ourselves to him, who has 
said he careth for us, and has bid us be 
careful for nothing. This will be a com- 
fortable state indeed. 

B. Dear sister, I have been debating 
long with myself about the comfort of our 
faith, and about a comfortable dependence ; 
and I have been long questioning whether 
ever I may arrive to the comfort of it or 
not ; whether the joy and peace ofhelieving 
may ever be my lot : and I have some 
reason to believe it will not. 

S. I hope for you that it may : pray do 
not foreclose yourself. 

B. I have such a weight upon me for a 
long series of folly and wickedness, that, 
the more I search and try my imys^ the 
more I see reason to turn to the Ltord ivith 
weeping and ivith niourning: and I believe 
I shall go so to my grave. 

S. It may be so: but let me add, that 
it does not follow but you may go so to 
heaven ; and then all those tears shall be 
wiped away from your eyes. 

B. I have sometimes brought it to thi^s 



140 



conclusion, (and blessed be God for it,) thai 
though repentance and faith be absolutely 
necessary to our salvation, yet comfort and 
assurance are not : and then I remember 
the words of Job, Though he slay me^ yet 
icill I trust ill him. 

S. This faith is as effectual, though not 
so comfortable as the other. This is my 
case : I know he is able to help and to save 
to the uttermost, and I desire to lie at his 
feet, and say, as the apostle did, Whither 
else shall we go ? ^ 

B. If my faith will support itself thus 
far, that I can he down and die at his feet, 
I will not say it is all I can desire, but I 
do say it is all I can expect;* and it is 
just with him if he should deny me even 
that. 

S. We cannot promise or propose to 
ourselves what we shall do when we come 
to the extremity. Dear brother, this is 
such a time of trial as we never had before ; 
nor older people than we. It pleases God 
we are yet alive : but death is at the door, 
and we have reason to expect it every 
moment ; and that a terrible death too : 
nothing can stand us in stead, but an entire 

* And more than might reasonably be expected ; but yet 
less than may and ought to be confidently looked for,, con- 
sidering the rich, and free, and full promises of the Gospei, 
even to the chief of sinners" truly coming to Christ 



141 



dependence upon infinite mercy, tlirougtj 
the merits of Jesus Christ. 

B. I propose nothing to myself but to 
depend upon him, and to look to him for 
life ; for he is the Author of eternal salvation 
to all that believe on him^^ and I rest on 
him, and this is all my preparation for this 
dreadful time. 

S. I know no other preparation ; and I 
trust that this preparation will carry us 
through whatever it shall please God to 
suffer us to meet with, in this dreadful time 
that is upon us. 

*'For some time, both before and after 
this discourse, the plague violently increas- 
ing, their elder brother had been very 
pressing with them to leave the town, and 
shift all for themselves. But these two 
well-prepared souls seemed to receive that 
part of his proposals coldly, and began to 
look upon themselves as destined to stay, 
seeing their brother, by whose motions, as 
the head of the family, they had resolved 
from the first to be guided, had not talked 
of going away till it was almost impracti- 
cable. They had made no provision, either 
for leaving the house and family in trust 

* To all them that o^ei/ him: to/? vTrciKovova-tvy Our 
author has here gone a little beyond the letter of the text in 

mslstiiig on faith alone. 



142 



with any body, or for securing what in 
such cases might be, and was fit to be 
secured; nor any country situation to 
retreat to. The elder brother, indeed, had 
a house of his own, and an estate with it, 
as tar off as Cheshire ; but it was not pos- 
sible to carry any thing of goods or neces- 
saries so far ; especially after they had so 
neglected it to the last, till the ordinary 
carriers had ceased going for some time, 
and there was no passing on the roads. 
The towns were all guarded and the pas- 
sages stopped. Even if th^y had procured 
certificates of health from the Lord Mayor, 
yet the city began to be so infected that no 
one would receive them ; no inn would 
lodge them on the way. These things had 
made their removal so impracticable, that, 
as I said, the second brother and his sister 
concluded thev were to stay. 

''They were, as above described, come 
to a happy and steady calm of mind with 
respect to the danger of death — going to- 
gether twice every day, besides their private 
retirement, to commit their souls in a more 
solemn manner into the hands of God. 
Hitherto the infection had been kept not 
only out of their house but out of their 
neighbourhood: no one had died or been 
infected, that they had heard of, in that part 
of the street where they lived : but, as it 



143 



was now the latter end of July, the city 
seemed hke a place invested and besieged : 
for, though the plague was not so violent 
within the walls as without, yet it was, more 
or less, in most parts of the city. 

For some time past the dead had ceased 
to be buried in the usual form ; and in the 
out-parts the dead-carts wert^ appointed to 
go through the streets between the hours 
of twelve and three in the night. It was 
not until the first week in August, that the 
dreadful sound, ' Bring out your dead!' was 
heard within the city ; and at first it was 
principally in those parishes which were 
next the walls, on the side of Cripplegate 
and Bishopgate : and that week there died 
of all diseases above 4000. 

''Their elder brother came in, the week 
before this, in a very great concern, having 
been at the Custom- house, or that way^ 
where he had some ware-houses of goods, 
and having met with some frightful things 
in his way. Finding his brother and sister 
together, he broke out in a tone rather of 
horror than anrger. 

1^^. J5. Well, brother, said he, my sister 
and you may do what you please, but I can 
stand it no longer. 

2d. B. My sister and I too are willing to 
do whatever you direct, brother ; but it has 
'been left among us as a thing undetermined 



144 



so long, that I do not see what can be done 

KOW. 

S. There may be as much danger, bro- 
ther, m going as in staying ; for I beUeve 
you have not yet resolved whither to go. 

1st. B. It is true I have not : I have done 
by my family as I have done by my soul — 
let it lie without any concern about it till it 
is too late. 

S. I beseech you do not say so : your 
family, indeed, may find it too late to stir; 
but, blessed be the Lord, your soul is in 
better hands. 

1^^. B. I scarce know what hands I am 
in ; I am at my wits' ends ; 1 will take my 
horse and go to Cheshire. 

iS". That is giving us your order to stay 
where we are ; for you know v/e cannot 
travel so far, as circumstances now stand, 
unless we should resolve to lie in the fields 
and starve; for no one would take us in. 

1.^^ B. \Vliy not ? you may have certifi- 
cates of health from my Lord Mayor. 

2d. B. You have seen accounts, brother, 
of several families who have been put to all 
manner of distresses upon the roads, on 
this very account ; and some have come 
back again to London, choosing to meet 
the worst in their own houses, rather than 
wander in the fields and roads, when no 
one will admit them, or come near them^'^ 
or let them pass from place to placet 



145 



1.^/. jB. I know not what to do: I must 
go somewhere : I am not able to stay here: 
my very blood runs cold in my veins at 
what I have met with to-day. 

.S. Why will you go out into the streetSj 
brother ? 

1^^. B. Nay, I do not think to go any 
more, till I go away for good and all. 

2d. B. Hitherto, brother, we have been 
kept : who knows but it may please God to 
spare us ? Let us keep within doors. 

l^^.. B. How shall we get provisions ? My 
mother's servant, that furnishes us now, 
said, the last time he came, he was frighted 
as he came through the Borough, and 
should be afraid to come much longer. 

While they were under these debates, 
which held them three or four days, there 
came a captain of a ship to the house, of 
whose ship the brothers were owners, and 
had fitted it out for a voyage to Genoa and 
Messina, where their chief dealing lay, and 
where they had lived. They were upon 
one of these discourses, it seems, when this 
captain came into the counting-house for 
some despatches which he wanted. Here 
he found his chief merchant under great 
perplexity about the progress of the plague ; 
and began to tell him, that he wondered he 
had not removed his familv before this 
13 



time : upon which the following discourse 
began between those two only — for the 
second brother was gone up stairs with bis 
jsister. 

Captain. Sir, I perceive you are in some 
perplexity about your family in this dreadful 
time. 

Merchant. Indeed, captain, so I am : my 
brother and sister too, who are our gover- 
nors, would have had me remove into the 
country two months ago ; and I laughed at 
them, and sliglited it: but now I must own, 
I wish With all my heart I had done it. 

C. I warrant you told them how you 
used to do abroad where they make light 
of such things, they are so frequent. 

So I did indeed : and I told my bro- 
ther I thought he had known better, that 
had lived at Naples, where they say there 
died 20,000 in one day ; though, by the way. 
it was not true. 

C. But pray, sir, why do you not go 
away still? This side of the city, and the 
Rotherhithe side of the river are pretty 
clear yet: you may all go away that way. 

M. You mistake the case extremely, 
captain : we may go out of the town several 
ways still, but there is not a town upon the 
road that will suffer any body to pass that 
comes from London, or from any town 
near London,: so that it. is impossible to 



147 



travel : we iiuist even stay all and die here : 
I see no remedy. 

The captain remaining silent, and seem- 
ing to muse on somewhat, the merchant 
proceeded : What makes you turn surprised 
at that, captain? it cannot be wondered at, 
nor can we blame the people ; for who 
would venture to lodge a family from Lon- 
don? I mean, what inn v/ould venture it, 
and have the plague brought to them ? 

C. I was not surprised at that part at 
all: indeed I was not thinldng of it. I 
was at first surprised to think that you, sir, 
who had so much knowledge of these things, 
should not have made preparations for your 
family's retreat a great while ago, before the 
plague came : for you have had notice that 
it was coming on above these six months. 

M. O captain ! wonder no more : we 
have done by the family as we do by our 
souls — put off the apprehensions, and that 
puts off the preparations ; and now that the 
evil is upon us, we are all in confusion. 

C. Well, but neither was that what I 
paused at : I have a proposal in my thoughts, 
that you may, if you please, with God's 
blessing, convey your family out of the city 
still, and that to such a distance that you 
may at least liope to be safe: and you shall 
meet with no stops upon the road at all* 
though you travel a great way. 



148 



3L We shall all be greatly obliged to 
you for such a proposal: nothing can bp. 
more acceptable at a time of such extre-^ 
niity ; for we look upon ourselves as all dead 
bodies. 

C. I have but one question to ask by way 
of caution, and if that cannot be answered, 
I can do nothing. 

3L I beheve I can guess at your ques- 
tion : the nature of the thing guides to it : 
it is, Whether we have not the distemper 
already among us ? 

C. That is the question, indeed, sir; 
for, if that could not be answered, you know 
nobody could expect to be assisted : neither 
could any body assist them ; for they w^ould 
carry death with them wherever they 
should go. 

3L Well, you may be assured, and de- 
pend upon it, that we are all of us, blessed 
be God ! servants and all, as free from the 
infection, and from any distemper, at pre- 
sent, as ever we w^ere in our lives. 

C. Why then, sir, the short of the story 
is this : Have not I a ship here in the 
river ? and is not she your own ? except a 
sixteenth, which I have by your friendship, 
and a sixteenth of my brother's, who will 
consent to whatever shall be for your ser- 
vice. Here we have victuals for her, for 
four mouths, for twenty-two men ; and have 



149 



put her up on the Exchaiii^e for Genoa, 
Naples, and Messina ; but we have taken 
in no goods, but some hogsheads of sugar 
for your own account, and about fifty fod- 
der of lead, for ballast, also of your own : 
nor, as things are now, will any body siiip 
any thing ; for all trade is at a stand. Be- 
sides^ it is to no purpose to go to sea, for 
no nation in Europe will give us product; 
or let us so much as come to an anchor ir 
any of their ports. 

M. You put a new thought into my head, 
I confess- Why, captain, would you take 
lis on board ? 

C. Will I take you on board ? Is she 
not your own ship ? is she not fitted out at 
your expens^e? You may and have a right 
to command her^ and turn me ashere^ if 
you think fit. 

M. Well; but are you willing to take 
lis in ? 

C. How can you ask that question, sir f 
why else do I make the proposal ? 
M. Wh^^»*e does your ship lie now ? 

She did lie, sir, at Rotherhithe, in 
what they call Cherry-garden Hole; but 
you know you ordered me to fail down to 
Deptford ; and there we ride, ready to fall 
down lower, if we see occasion. 
M. A. lid have you room for us all ? 

Sir, we will make ^oom for you, as 
13^ 



150 



convenient as if it were in your own 
house. 

31. Sit down again, captain : come, I 
will propose it to my brother and sister, 
and hear what they say to it ; for I confess 
your offer comes to me as if it came from 
heaven. It is as if it was a voice from 
above, a message to save us all from the 
most dreadful condition that ever family 
was in. I wonder I should never have 
thought of it before." 

The account goes on to relate the pro- 
posal of the measure to the younger brother 
and the sister, who both regarded it as 
" something like a call from heaven to them 
to come out of the danger;" and, viewing 
it in that light, ^'received it with suitable 
acknowledgments, and closed willingly with 
the offer." 

Accordingly, under the direction of the 
elder brother, and by the active exertions 
of the captain, every requisite preparation 
for the embarkation was quickly made, and 
the ship's boat "ordered to come up to 
Tower Wharf for the family, on the Wed- 
nesday:" when lo I on the Sunday after- 
noon, the sister was suddenly taken ill. No 
doubt was entertained that she was seized 
with the plague. Under these trying cir- 
cumstances " she carried it with an extra- 



151 



ordinary composure of mind, meekly com- 
mitting herself into the hands of Him on 
whose mercy she had so long depended ; 
and strikingly showing the difference be- 
tween a mind solemnly prepared for death, 
and which in earnest had long expected it ; 
and a thoughtless, negligent one, which had 
put far away the evil day."^"^ But the con- 
dition of the elder brother was widely dif- 
ferent. Now, indeed, he was thoroughly 
distressed. Before, he was frighted at the 
danger to which he was exposed ; but now 
he looked upon it that God had struck his 
family, and that they should all die of the 
plague, and that very quickly. He got no 
sleep that night. Between twelve and one 
o'clock, he heard, for the first time, that 
dismal cry, ' Bring out your dead ! bring out 
your dead !' the cart beginning to go through 
the street where he lived that very night. 
The noise of the bell, the doleful cry of the 
bell-man, and the rumbling of the cart- 
wheels, you may suppose, joined together 
to present to his mind the most frightful 
images ; the terror of which was increased 
by the apprehension that the plague was 
already in his house, and that his own sis- 
ter might perhaps be fetched out by the 
carl and the bearers the next night or two 
at furthest. He got up and went to his 
brother's chamber; thinking to awaken him^ 



152 



and to sit down by his bedside. But he was 
surprised to find nobody in the room, and 
that the bed was not unmade. In short, 
his brother was up praying with his sister; 
and, though he believed she had the plague 
upon her, yet he w^ould not leave her or stir 
from her, but as necessity obliged him ; 
but sat by her, comforting and supporting 
her mind with the fruit of their former ex- 
perience, and reading consoling scri|>tures 
to her. Thus they were spending the night, 
when, the elder brother calling the younger 
by name^ the servant that attended told 
Jiim, and he went out to him ; and their 
short and confused discourse was to this 
purpose. 

1^^. B. O brother! we are all dead 
.corpses! There is a cart gone by that 
must fetch us all away. 

2d. B> What, is the dead cart come into 
our lane ? 

1^^. B. Ay, ay, I heard the bell-man's 
dismal cry. 

2d. B. Well, God's will be done with 
us! let us settle our minds on Him: He 
shall not be afraid of evil tidings, ivJiose 
heart is fixed, trusting in the Lord. 

1st. B. How can you go into my sister's 
chamber ? you will get the distemper, to be 
sure. Nay, have you not got it already ? 
B, I cannot tell how I may fare as 



153 



to that; it shall be as God pleases: butl 
will not leave her, while she has life and 
sense in her: she has been my soul's com- 
forter, and I will never cease comforting 
her, as long as I am able. 

1^^. B. Why, you are strangely altered 
and comforted indeed, compared to what 
you were when you came into the counting- 
house to me, and were for running away to 
France. 

2d. B. Blessed be God, 1 am altered : 
and blessed be that dear messenger of God 
that is now languishing, and just entering 
joyfully into heaven ! She has been a 
thousand times dearer than a sister to me ; 
she has been an angel of God to me. O 
that I were in her condition, as to the soul, 
though I were in her condition as to the 
infection also ! As for the last, that is the 
particular hand of God, and it is our duty 
to submit : blessed be God it is no token of 
his displeasure ! 

1^^. B. How! brother, is it no mark of 
God's displeasure ? I think it is a sore 
and heavy judgment, and a token of God's 
vengeance upon the land. 

2d. B. It is a national judgment, no 
doubt, and calls for national humiliation; 
but I do not think it must be called a token 
of God's vindictive hand to any particular 
person, for then nobody that had the Air- 



154 



temper could have any ho}3e of being at 
peace with God; and there is our dear 
sister, bad as she is, she has a triumphant 
joy possessing her whole soul, in the blessed 
assurance of her salvation.'^ 

1st. B. I am glad to hear it : but I am 
very apt to question those who boast of 
their assurances of heaven: I think they 
very often prove hypocrites. t 

* ''It was generally observed among us, that God's 
people, who died by the plague among the rest, died with 
such peace and comfort as Christians do not ordinarily 
arrive unto, except when they are called forth to suffer 
martyrdom for the testimony of Jesus Christ. Some who 
have been full of doubts, and fears, and complaints, whilst 
they have lived and been well, have been filled with 
assurance, and comfort, and praise, and joyful expectation 
of glory, when they have lain on their death-beds by this 
disease. And not only more grown Christians, who have 
been more ripe for glory, have had these comforts, but also 
some younger Christians, whose acquaintance with the 
Lord had been of no long standing." VincenVs God's 
Terrible Voice in the City, p. 37. 

i The common class of mere nominal Christians very 
naturally form such an opinion. They can conceive little 
or nothing of the grounds — of any reasonable grounds — 
why one piofessed Christian, more than another of good 
and respectable character, should entertain such an assur- 
ance. They conceive that it nuist be taken up on some 
enthusiastic and inexplicable assumption. But it is by no 
means so. The reasonableness of the thing may be perfectly 
well demonstrated. All indeed proceeds upon the sole basis 
of Scripture : nothing can be known concerning salvation 
in general, much less concerning our own salvation, but 
from that source. But, admitting the infallible truth of the 
Scriptures, we ask, Is any rhing more obvious than that 
they describe, minutely and particularly, various things 
pertaining to the character and state of mind, which mark 
, .oiit them that are in the way to heavea — ^' them that shall 



135 



2d. B, She is too near heaven to be a 
counterfeit, brother. Besides, she is the 
humblest, most melted penitent that ever 
you heard of; the sense of God's pardoning 
mercy has melted her very soul into peni- 
tential tears, and those tears have filled her 
with joy. 

1st. B. You talk upon contraries; you 
are all mysterious. 

2d. B. You may call it mysterious, if 
you will, but it is a blessed truth, though it 
is a mysterious thing to those that under- 
stand it not : no repentance, no humility, 

be the heirs of salvation ?" I refer to all the descriptions of 
repentance, of the exercise of faith in Christ, of the new 
heart and the right spirit," of the love of God and the 'Move 
to the brethren," which mark out them that have passed 
fro-m death unto life;" of the Christian temper, and conduct, 
and principles; of the fruits of the Spirit," which distin- 
guish them that are Christ's." Now is it net perfectly 
intelligible that a person seriously-minded, bending his 
chief attention to these momentous subjects, may discern 
that, through the grace of God, he is brought, notwithstand- 
ing all remaining imperfections, to possess this state of 
mind, to exercise these Christian graces, and to bear this 
character ? And may he not hence, with the most perfect 
fairness and reasonableness infer, on scriptural grounds, 
that God hath not appointed hun unto wrath, but to obtain 
salvation by our Lord Jesus Christ?" Thus the Spirit of 
God " bears witness with his spirit, that he is a child of 
God ;" and in proportion as that Divine Agent shines with 
his glorious light upon his own work in the soul, all doubt 
vanishes, and the happy subject of it is filled with all joy 
and peace in believing." This indeed is the secret of 
the Lord, known (only) to them that fear him" — (Psa. xxv. 
14;) but it is no unintelligible, or inexplicable, or uiwea- 
§onable f^ncy — it is no unfounded presumption* 



156 



no tears like those that are raised by a 
humble sense of infinite, undeserved, for- 
giving grace ; and no joy, no satisfaction 
of soul, no rejoicing, nay, triumph of soul, 
like the joy that is founded in sorrow, 
founded in repentance. Ezek. xvi. 63. 

1^/. B. And is my sister come to that 
length? These are sublime things, indeed. 
— O brother, what have I been doing ? I 
am undone : what shall I do ? 

2d. B, I see, brother, it has pleased 
God to visit the family ; I hope you will be 
preserved ; I beg of you to take boat, and 
go immediately on board the ship. Take 
such servants as you think fit, and youV little 
children, and go away ; for you will but 
finish the ruin of the family if you stay: 
for if you should be struck, they are all 
undone. 

1^^. B. I cannot go without you, brother ; 
if you will go with me, I will go. 

2d. B. Do not ask me : I cannot leave 
her ; no, I will live and die with her. I am 
sure, if I had been the first, she would not 
have left me. Besides, brother, it may not 
be safe for you to have me go, for to be 
sure I have the seeds of the distemper 
about me by this time. 

He had, with much ado, prevailed on 
his brother to resolve upon going the next 
morning, and not to stay for the ship's 



157 



boat, which was to come for them two days 
after ; when, ofrering to go into his sister's 
chamber again, the servant met him softly 
at the door, and told him she was fallen 
into a sleep, with a little perspiration upon 
her. On this he retired into his own cham- 
ber. He waited four or five hours, and still 
his sister slept most sweetly : upon which 
he lay down on his own bed in his clothes, 
and slept several hours more, and still his 
sister had not awaked. In a word, she 
slept till near nine o'clock the next morn- 
ing, when she awoke wonderfully refreshed; 
her distemper quite abated, the fever gone; 
and, in a word, it appeared, to the inex- 
pressible joy of the whole family, that she 
had not the least symptoms of the infection 
upon her. 

On the day appointed the boat there- 
fore came up, and the eldest brother, with 
his two children and one maidservant, and 
a manservant, went on foot through the 
street to Galley Quay, where, it being high 
water, the boat came close to the shore, and 
they all went away. 

" The next day, the boat being ordered 
up again, the second brother, the sister, 
and another maidservant, with an ancient 
woman that was formerly the sister's 
nurse, all went off in the same manner. 

" Wheu they w ere uU safe on board, the 
14 



158 



captain asked their leave to bring his own 
wife and one child, a little boy of five years 
old, and a maid, to be with him also ; which 
they all willingly agreed to ; and thus they 
were all embarked together. This was the 
first week in August, by which time the 
burials in the city and suburbs amounted to 
no less than 4,030 in all, of which 2,817 
were of the plague, 

" They left the house fastened up with 
no soul in it ; but committed the care of 
guarding it to the ordinary watch by night, 
^nd to two poor men, who by turns kept 
the outer door by day, took in letters, and 
any such business as, in that time of a ces- 
sation of all business, might happen. They 
were particularly directed to take in the 
weekly bills of mortality, which, with all 
foreign letters, were ordered to be sent 
weekly to a house at Greenwich, and to be 
thence brought to the ship's side, after they 
had been perfumed and sprinkled with 
vinegar, and then scorched at the fire, as 
was the usage. 

The ship, which was large and commo- 
dious, lay at anchor a little above Deptford ; 
w^iere they continued about a fortnight 
longer ; but, finding by that time the dread- 
ful increase of the plague, and that it came 
fast to the eastward, and began to rage in 
Wapping and Ratcliff'e, apd even down to 



lot) 



Bluckwall ; and that some had died of it at 
Rotherhithe and Deptford ; the captain, at 
the request of his company, weighed, and 
fell down the river to a place between 
Blackwall and Woolwich, called Biigsby's 
Hole, a secure station for ships to ride in. 
They soon found reason also to alter the 
place appointed for their letters, and or- 
dered them to Woolwich — both the towns 
of Deptford and Greenwich being sorely 
visited. 

" In this station they rode with great 
satisfaction all the rest of the month of 
August ; till tliey received the last w^eekly 
bill for that month, which amounted to no 
less than 7,496 — an increase of 2000 upon 
that of the preceding week ; when the elder 
brother became altogether as uneasy as he 
was before he left his house in London. On 
this they w^eighed, and went down the river 
to Greenhithe. Thence they proposed to 
go down as low as Gravesend ; when they 
received news that the plague was at that 
place, and, as it was said, (though prema- 
turely,) at Chatham and Rochester. They 
continued, therefore, somewhat longer at 
Greenhithe ; till the elder brother being 
still uneasy, and not bearing to lie at any 
place when the plague was yet beyond 
him — or lower down the river — made the 
captain remove past Gravesend to an an- 



160 



cliorage at a place, since called New 
Tavern — being as far as the Custom-house 
officers would let him pass, without clear- 
ing." 

Finding, however, that they were too 
much exposed in this situation to be safe, 
with the small number of hands they had 
on board to manage the ship, (being only 
the chief mate, boatswain, carpenter, and 
six seamen," beside the captain,) " they 
agreed at last to come up the river again to 
the upper part of Long Reach — three miles 
nearer London than Greenhithe. Here lay 
six other vessels, four above them and two 
below them; which they found were all 
outward-bound, but without their full lad- 
ing, being embargoed, as it were, by the 
common calamity. All the captains had 
their famihes on board, and most of them 
other families, who thus sought, like the 
subjects of our narrative, safety from the 
plague ; and, through God's mercy, had 
hitherto found it. Our party had not been 
here above three days, when the headmost 
ship, or that which lay at the upper end of 
the Reach, made a signal to the rest, which 
thev answered, but the new comers did not 
I understand. The headmost ship's boat, 

however, soon came along side, with the 
ship's mate on board, and, having hailed 
the captain, said, he was ordered to acquaint 



161 



him, that the next day was that which the 
six ships, ever since they had ridden there 
in company, had agreed to keep as a 
weekly fast, in order to beg of Ahnighty 
God to preserve them from the pestilence^ 
and that they would be glad if he and bis 
company would please to join them in it* 
This proposal was thankfully acceded to, 
and the day regularly observed, on its 
weekly return, as a day of strict religious 
fasting and humiliation* As, however, they 
had no minister on board, they made it an 
act of private and, as we may call it, family 
devotion only. The younger brother and 
his sister spent much of the time together 
in joint religious exercises, a.s they had 
done on their usual fasts; but ^'the elder 
brother vms still so confused in his thoughts, 
and had such a reserved melancholy upon 
him all the time, that he could do little more 
than read a sermon or two to the family; 
and he then retired to his private cabin, 
where he spent his time as well^ he could ; 
though, as he afterwards acknowledged, 
very uncomfortably to himself* 

About three days after this, which was 
September 6, they received the weekly bill 
of mortality, reporting 8,252 deaths from 
August 29 to September 5, whereof 7,145 
were of the plague and spotted fever. This 
filled them all with heaviness, and put the 
14* 



162 



elder brother upon new projects, especially 
as the numbers were nearly as high the two 
following weeks. However, on the 29th of 
September, they vvere surprised early in 
the morning by hearing the headmost ship 
lire five guns; and, looking out, they saw 
she had her ancient and pendants flying, 
and all bore the face of joy. They began 
to call upon one another with their speak- 
ing trumpets, to inquire the cause : when, 
presently a boat proceeded from the head 
ship, and, calling to every one of the others 
as she passed, informed them that her cap- 
tain had received the last weekly bill and 
two letters, which announced that the 
plague had abated in an extraordinary 
manner, the number having fallen by 2,000 
that Vv eek ! This was matter of iov suffi- 
cient to them all; and accordingly they all 
fired their guns, gave thanks to God, and 
drank to one another's health as well as 
they could at that distance; (for they never 
ventured on board each others' ships;) and, 
in hopes that the distemper wo ikl continue 
to abate, laid aside the scheme they had 
begun to entertain, of sailing away toge- 
ther, and forcing a landing in Ireland, or 
some other uninfected part. Nor did their 
hopes deceive them," as will appear from 
comparing the account already given in the 
former part of this volume. 



163 



However, they continued strictly on their 
guard till the end of November. In the 
course of that month, the face of things 
being so essentially changed, they came up 
to what they now call Limehouse Reach, 
a little above Deptford." Thence they sent 
their sevants to town to prepare their house 
for their reception; and, " after almost four 
months' absence, all things being ready 
within doors, and the whole parish of St. 
Margaret Pattens, in which their house 
stood, having been several weeks free from 
the plague," they returned, through God's 
blessing upon the measure they had been 
led to adopt, in health and safety to their 
habitation. 

Our author concludes his work with 
reraarking again on the v/ide diiterence 
between a prepared and an unprepared 
mind, under such solemn circumstances, as 
exemplified in the sister and the younger 
brother, on the one part, and in the elder 
brother on the other part; and imploring 
that all his readers may experience the 
blessedness that arises from a heart 

standing fast, trusting in the Lord." 

Before I dismiss the volume from my 
hands, I must beg leave not only to press 
the lesson just alluded to, but to make a 



164 



few remarks on the contents, generally, of 
the second part of the work. 

Alas ! how many are acting habitually, 
with reference to repentance and prepara- 
tion for eternity, the same infatuated part 
which the elder brother is here described 
as acting. They cannot indeed flatter 
themselves concerning death, as he did 
concerning the plague, that it will not 
come ; but they hope that it is distant, and 
they are determined to put off the thoughts 
of it, and all effectual preparation for it, to 
a future time (a time which probably will 
never arrive,) of greater leisure and less 
disinclination to the duty. They resolve 
to look only, as he did, to what they vainly 
think the safe alternative — that of con- 
tinued life and opportunity; whereas the 
opposite alternative is very possibly the 
more likely one, even upon the ordinary 
calculation of life alone — without taking 
into account the danger of provoking a 
long-suffering, but offended God, to pro- 
nounce, Thoii fool! this night tJiy soul 
shall be required of thee : thy expected op- 
portunities, on the anticipation of which 
thou goest on to trifle alike with my justice 
and my mercy, and to add sin to sin, shall 
never be vouchsafed thee !" Or, even sup- 
posing abused opportunities not to be with^ 



165 



drawn — supposing life and mental powers 
and religious advantages to be contuiued — 
wiiere is the probability that disinclination 
to forsake all sin will decrease, by longer 
continuance in sin ? That disposition to 
turn to God, and confidence to resort to 
him, will grow up amid renewed and pro- 
longed rebellion against him ! Oh ! it is a 
forlorn hope — a perilous risk — a miserable 
coarse; miserable at present to continue 
in " the bondage of corruption" — under 

the wrath of God ' — the reproaches of 
conscience — and the terrors of judgment to 
come. It is miserable at present, as well 
as infinitely perilous for the future. Some, 
blessed be God, are recovered from this sad 
state ; but, alas ! how many, who had flat- 
tered themselves with being rescut^ i from 
it, never are so; but die as they had lived, 
Thej^ hope that the near prospect of death 
will work a salutary change in their minds ; 
but of Itself it will never do tnis. If it is 
ever made the means of it, it is through the 
gracious influence of " the good Spirit" of 
God. And what right has that man to 
flatter himself that this influence will be 
vouchsafed at last, to save him from the 
consequence of h^.ving " resisted" it during 
all his former and better days? 

In this view, the case of the elder brother 
is well and naturally depicted. The pre-- 



166 



^euce of the plague finds hiiii not only 
without resource and without comfort, but 
v/ithout that change of disposition, thnt 
heart to prepare, which he had flattered 
himself the danger, becoming imminent, 
would bring with it. And wisely and well 
is the thick vail of doubt left han^inof over 
his character to the end. Had his conver- 
sion, distinct though late, been described, 
it might better have soothed our feelings, 
but it would have weakened the salutary 
impression made upon our hearts, and 
even deprived us, to a great degree, of the 
very weighty and important lesson v/hich 
it is the will of God that such cases should 
commonly afford us. 

Thus many love to persuade themselves 
that the young ruler, who went away 
sorrowful," indeed, but yet actually w^ent 
away from our Lord^ from the love of 
riches, afterwards repented and returned 
to him. It might be so ; but it is not in 
the record ; we know nothing of it, if he 
did ; and the case is unspeakably more 
instructive, and more suited to warn and to 
profit i|s, than if such an addition had beeu 
made to the narrative. Now, he stands to 
us a solemn monitor. How hardly shall they 
that have riches enter into the kingdom of 
God! 

May many of my readers, specially of 



167 



those younger readers, who, I hope, will be 
attracted by the affecting narratives and in- 
teresting conversations of this little vplumej 
be warned by the sad case of the elder 
brother^ ''His passions," we are told, *' not 
his piety, were agitated when the hour came 
upon him ; he was in a continual hurry of 
mind, and terrible alarm, even to amaze^ 
ment : he thought himself secure no where ; 
made all the restraints in the ship more 
severe than was reasonable ; and, when he 
read the bills of mortality, would tremble^ 
and fall into such agonies as can hardly be 
described." Oh, to-day, while it is called 
to-day, hear God's voice ; seek him while 
he may be found, call upon him while he 
is near. They that seek him early, shall 
find him.^^ 

What an encouraging and beautiful ex- 
ample of this, in the next place, is presented 
to us in the case of the sister in this family I 
In her we see every thing Christian and 
feminine, and yet truly heroick. What a 
blessing does she prove to her younger 
jrother ! And what a blessing is such a 
young woman suited to prove among all 
who have 

Grown up with her 
Round the same fireside !" 

Andj should she be spared to be«eme a v^ife 



168 



and a mother, what a blessing to her hus- 
band and her children, even to future 
generations ! 

Nor are such examples merely imaginary^ 
Blessed be God, many such really exist in 
all their leading rudiments, and only want- 
ing the aid of circumstances to call them 
forth into similar activity. What traits of 
female character did ^ the loss of the Kent' 
bring to light and one similar example, 
at least, was presented on board ^ the 
Rothsay Castle,' though no other words of 
hers are preserved than the sentence, 
' While there is danger, 1 like to face it.'f 
And in more calm and ordinary cases of 
trial, the same graces are developed, when 
the character is really formed on the basi^ 
of Christian principle. — Let me be permit- 
ted to allude to a death-bed which I have 
recently visited, that of a dear friend, not, 
indeed, so youthful as ' the sister' in this 
narrative is described to be, but yet one in 
co?nparatively early life^ — the mother of a 

* We can never forget the note written, signed, directed, 
and enclosed in a bottle, in the midst of this terrific scene, 
and afterwards taken up in the West-tndies : — " The ship 
Kent, Indianian, is on lire: E. J. and myself commit oar 
spirits into the hands of our blessed Redeemer. His grace 
enables us to be composed in the awful prospect of entering 
into eternity. J YV,ii, McGregor, 15th Maich, 1825 ; Bay 
of Biscay." 

i Rev. J. H. Stewart's Letters, &c. on the deaths of ^Ir- 
and Mrs. W, M. Forster. 



169 



young family— a circumstance of all othei:'^ 
suited to produce anxiety in such a situa- 
tion. Yet here the blessed effects of a 
prepared mind" were most delightfully ex- 
hibited. During a long illness, her case 
only illustrated the sentence of the prophet. 
Thou shalt keep him in perfect peace 
whose mind is stayed on thee, because he 
trusteth in thee." When I visited her for 
the last time, her language was, The time 
of my illness has been a happy time to me 
and when she allowed herself to look back 
on the past, and forward to the glory to 
be revealed," and her thoughts to dwell on 
the promises of the Gospel, she seemed 
overcome with the sense of the goodness 
that was enjoyed, and that was reserved foi- 
her. To the last moment her language to 
those around her was, While 1 live, con- 
tinue to pray for me; and, as soon as you 
think I am safe landed, then, O praise God 
for me!"— To one who alluded to the 
ground of anxiety above mentioned, and to 
her being, as she was, reUeved from it, she 
said, " We cannot anticipate this ; we must 
not expect it before the time comes ; but, 
when it comes, then the relief will be vouch- 
safed." — Such is the blessedness of "q, 
prepared mind"— -and especially of " serv« 
mg the Lord from our youth." O may my 
youthful readers in particular be moved to 
1.5 



170 



aspire after it, arid to seek it in the way 
marked out to llieni. 

And then the case of the younger brother 
is not less alFecting and instructive. 

We need not dwell on the warning Avhicli 
all his discouragements and despondings, 
arising from the consciousness of having 
declined from the right way, after seeming 
to betake himself to it, furnish against de- 
parting from God, suffering our impressions 
to wear away, our convictions to be stifled, 
our resolutions to remain unfulfilled. But 
I would, for a moment, insist upon the in- 
stntction and encouragemeiit afforded by the 
happy result of the endeavours, in which, 
however for a time disconsolate, yet 
(prompted by the zeal and piety of his 
devoted sister,) he persevered, to return 
unto God. This admonishes all persons 
never to yield to despondency, never to 
think it is now '^ too late," never to distrust 
^* infinite mercy," exercised to us through 
the all-suflficieut sacrifice and merits of our 
Divine Redeemer. This whole case is, I 
am persuaded, most truly and scripturally 
portrayed: and it has, blessed be God! 
many prototypes in real life. May their 
number be greatly multiplied ! The word 
of God speaks nothing but what is inviting 
and encouraging to every sinner^ let the 



171 



aggravations of his transgressions have been 
what they may, from the moment he desires 
to forsake his sins, and turn unto the Lord* 
Though he" should for a time ''walk in 
darkness, and have no light," yet '' let him 
trust in the name of the Lord, and stay 
upon his God." The Lord will have 
mercy on him ; our God will abundantly 
pardon" him. " The blood of Jesus Christ 
shall cleanse him from all sin ;" and he shall 
be enabled to say, '' O Lord, I will praise 
thee : though thou wast angry with me; 
thine anger is turned away, and thou com- 
fortest me." To every such person we 
must cry, O tarry thou the Lord's leisure 
wait earnestly ^ipon him — wait patiently for 
him ; be strong, and he shall comfort thine 
heart. Wait, I say, on the Lord." Weep- 
ing may endure for a night, but joy conieth 
in the morning," 

Nor must we pass over in silence the 
venerable widowed mother of the faniih — 
though she too soon vanishes entirely from 
our view. Her conversation, while it iast&g 
is highly characteristic, acute, and forcible. 
Indeed, it is one excellence of these dia- 
logues, that the characters are so well 
sustained. Each is distinctly marked, and 
preserves its consistency throughout. To 
the example and instructions of this excel- 



172 



lent parent we naturally trace, under the 
divine blessing, all the good which grows 
up in her children. 

Finally : It is not improbable that by 
many persons, in the present day, the whole 
of the preparation here recommended, and 
the course pursued by the two principal 
characters, will be pronounced much too 
formal. And on this I would offer a few 
remarks. 

Wherever the sentiments, or even the 
language, has appeared not duly evangeli- 
cal, I have acknowledged the fault and en- 
deavoured to supply the due correction of 
it; though, when the whole is taken toge- 
ther, there seems to be but little real ground 
of complaint under this head. 

That the parties concerned have no no- 
tion of resting in mere external observances, 
in a routine of duties, in an opus operafum, 
is most obvious. The heart is concerned, 
and the utmost earnestness is cherished 
throughout ; and peace and joy in believ- 
ing," and all other Christian tempers, and 
Christian duties, are the result : and, where 
this is the case, we should rather be dis- 
posed to suspect remissness and lukewarm- 
ness in ourselves, than to charge formality 
upon those whose devotions, though con-» 



173 



ducted in a different way from our own, are 
productive of such etFects. 

But in real truth I suspect that, while 
some of our predecessors had too much de- 
generated into formality, we have gone, 
to our hurt and to the dishonour of religion, 
into the opposite extreme. We have de- 
parted so widely from the form and order 
of religion, as to be in danger of losing much 
of t'iO jpirit of it, wdiich is hardly to be pre- 
served without them. There is important 
truth in the maxim, that what is left to any 
time, is apt to be neglected at all times- 
And is not such the case with the private 
devotions of many ? Set times and set 
places are good as the basis of general 
rules, though, as in the case of all general 
rules, the deviation from them, at soine 
times, may be proper and advantageous. 
The observance of special occasions, some 
of them periodically recurring, is not to be 
relinquished without our suffering los« from 
the neglect. The dispensing altogether 
with fast days, and times of peculiar humi- 
liation ; the neglect of the seasons set apart 
by the church for such purposes; has robbed 
us, it is to be feared, of many spiritual 
enjoyments, and of victories over the worldj 
the flesh, and the devil, which our pious 
forefathers obtained, in the due improve- 
ment of such occasions. With respect even 
35^ 



174 



tp forms and inetliods of devotion : private 
religious exercises should, certainly, not be 
con fined to them ; our own wants, and sins, 
and sorrows, and mercies, and joys, and 
those of the individuals, or the collective 
bodies, with which we are connected, should 
be brought before the throne of the heavenly 
grace as they arise : and no man can have 
duly given expression to them for us, in a 
pre-composed form. Yet the feelings of the 
mind vary ; the spirits are often dull, the 
thoughts distracted, the whole soul sluggish 
and torpid : and thus the season of devotion 
is passed over more unprofitably than, per- 
haps, it might be, would we condescend, in 
aach circumstances, to call in the aid of 
some course of devotion — not to stand sub- 
stitute for the emotions of onr own hearts, 
but to call forth those emotions to cherish 
and assist them. ''While we were thus 
musing," perhaps, 'Hthe fire would burn" — 
where nothing but lifeless embers are now 
at times found. 

Through discarding all methods and courses 
of devotion, are not some important topics 
even habitually passed over, or very scantily 
and perfunctorily attended to ? 

And so, likewise, v>^e may perhaps pro- 
perly remark concerning that example of 
united devotion, in what may still be called 
rather the private, than the social worships 



175 



of near friends, which is exemplified in the 
case before us. Were our hearts in com- 
mon more engaged upon the things which 
pertain to our souls' welfare, this, I believe, 
would be more practised. Were times of 
calamity, such as are described in this book, 
to revisit us, I doubt not that they would 
drive us more to such exercises. And, m 
the devout performance of them, should we 
not find that fulfilled, which our Lord has 
promised? ^' 1 say unto you, that if two 
of you shall agree on earth as touching any 
thing that they shall ask, it shall be done 
for them of my Father w hich is in heaven.'^ 
Matt, xviii. 19. 



There is one other point on which, before 
we close, the reader may wish to be further 
assisted in forming an opinion. I refer to 
the question. How far the work before us 
records facts^ or how far it consists of 
fiction^ When, in addition to the contents 
of the volume itself, he shall have perused 
the following sentences from the author's 
preface, he will have before him all the 
means of judging as to this question, which 
I myself possess. 

To make this discourse famihar and 



176 



agreeable to every reader, I have endea- 
voured to make it as historical as I could ; 
and have, therefore, intermingled it with 
some accounts of facts, where I could come 
at them, and some by report, suited to and 
calculated for the moral ; endeavouring, by 
all possible and just methods, to encourage 
the great work of preparation, which is the 
main end of this undertaking. The cases I 
have stated here are suited, with the utmost 
care, to the circumstances past, and more 
especially as they are reasonably supposed 
to suit those to come ; and, as I very par- 
ticularly remember the last visitation of this 
kind, which afflicted this nation in 1665, 
and have had occasion to converse with 
manv other persons who lived in this city 
all the while, I have chosen some of their 
cases as precedents for our present instruc- 
tions. I take leave so far to personate the 
particular people in their histories, as is 
needful to the case in hand, without making 
use of their names ; though, in many cases, 
i could have descended to the very names 
and particulars of the persons themselves. 
But it is the example that is the thing 
aimed at. As to the rehgious history here 
mentioned — till I see some just exception 
raised against the pattern laid before u^ in 
every part of it, I cannot suggest there 
will be any against the manner of relating 



177 



it, and, lor that reason, I make no apology 
lor it." 

My opinion then is, 1st. That the his- 
torical details concerning the plague are 
strictly accurate, according to the best in- 
formation that could be obtained. 2d. That 
with respect to the account of the two 
families, who are made the vehicles of the 
information, and occupy the foreground in 
the respective pieces, the author had known 
cases to a great degree corresponding with 
his narration. Perhaps he has combined, 
in the story of each, incidents which be- 
longed to more families than one ; yet I 
have little doubt that, according to his own 
statement, he could, in most cases, " have 
descended to names" and places. Lastly, 
with regard to the conversations : Many 
substantially agreeing with those here given 
would, under such circumstances, unques- 
tionably occur. The a:uthor had, very pro- 
bably, known such, and partaken in them; 
and in thus detailing them, and putting 
them into the mouths of suitable speakers, 
he has only followed the model of many of 
the most admired pieces, both ancient and 
modern. Truth and fact are at the basis t 
fiction supplies little more than the decora- 
tions of the column. 



178 



OIF I here subjoin extracts from a letter, dated at St, 
Petersburgh, June 2*2, (O. S.) 1831, during the prevalence 
of the cholera. It has appeared in several publications, 
and is, I understand, fully to be relied on. I apprehend it^ 
likewise, proceeds from the pen of a female. 

My dear , The newspapers will have told you that 

our city is at length visited with the pestilential sword ; 
would that I could say we were bowing in humility and 
contrition of spirit, and were asking. Wherefore is this 
chastisement? We have sinned and forgotten our God, 
therefore he visits us with his plagues, to teach us that 
^' verily there is a God that judgeth the earth." Many are 
for accounting for its appearance by natural causes, and 
others attribute it to fatality ; yet there are a few who hear 
the loud call in this judgment to consider our ways. Yes, 
my beloved, if there ever was a time in which we were 
more especially called upon to watch, and leave the morrow, 
it is the present. When T go to bed at night, I desire to 
be thankful that we have been permitted to lie down peace- 
fully ; if! wake in the night, I rejoice to see our span still 
extended ; and, when we assemble in the morning, I think, 
shall we still be preserved, or will one or more have ex- 
changed time for eternity ere the shades of evening close 
around us? Nothing feels of so much importance as to 
have a well-grounded hope of being inscribed in the Lamb's 
book of life. Though I do ask the Lord to spare our lives, 
that they may be devoted to his service and glory, yet I 
desire his will, and his will alone, to be our portion. The 

appearance of this sickness altered all our plans Our 

family consists of forty-two individuals, so that, in all human 
probability, some or other will be subject to the disease. 
The men occasionally go out, and if they remain longer 
than usual, I begin to fear their having fallen down sick. 
We close the house from communication with others as 
much as possible, and every member of the family who has 
occasion to go out, and every visitor, has to undergo a ten 
minutes' fumigation ere they enter the house. Should I 
not be spared to write to you again, let me tell you I con- 
sider it a p -ecious privilege to be here at this season, to 
sympathise and pray with my friends, to rejoice or weep 
with them, and watch over my dear children. Some 
Christian families who had gone into the country for the 
benefit of pure air, have now all coll&cted together in the 



179 



city, and rejoice to be near one another for life or for deaths 
while worldly families are flying on all sides, striving to 
eany themselves beyond the present range of the disease. 
We meet together for worship and for indispensable busi- 
ness, but for nothing else ; and each of us is endeavouring 
to have his or her worldly affairs in order, lest the summons 

should come in a moment How solemn is eternity, 

when we feel on the brink of it ! How precious then does 
the immortal soul feel! What a favour to be here! I 
desire to rest in the Lord, and if he prolongs myhfe, I only 
wish it may be for his service; nothing else is Vv^orth living 
for. Oh, how contemptible does every occupation appear^ 
which is not sanctified by prayer and love to the Lord! 
My dear friends and I meet each time as though it w^ere the 
last, and part deeply impressed with the uncertainty of 
seeing each other again in time. This feeling of uncertainty 

is useful to us all Be not anxious about us ; nothing 

can happen to us contrary to the will of our heavenly Father, 
who is full of compassion and tender love. Therefore 

leave us in his hands, and be peaceful ; but, my dear , 

pray much for the poor and the ignorant, and that the glory 
of the Lord may fill all the earth. O that we were bowing 
at the foot of the cross, all in a body, as the Ninevites did; 
who knows but the Lord would sheath his sword, and send 
us salvation? ... In the 121st Psalm the Lord promises to 
preserve the souls of those who look up to him. The body 
is only the garment of the soul, therefore let us leave, it to 
seek for the preservation of that which is to remain for ever. 



THE ENI>, 



